


Everything mixed up (and baked in a beautiful pie)

by dearericbittle (dutchmoxie)



Series: What baking can do [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Holidays, M/M, POV Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski is a Nice Thing, baker!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:15:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 41,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21904342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dutchmoxie/pseuds/dearericbittle
Summary: Stiles’ friends are more of a pain in the ass than usual around the holiday season. Just because he spends all of his time at his bakery, doesn’t mean he’s unhappy. So hiring a fake boyfriend seems like the perfect, simple solution. Instead Stiles stumbles onto a stupid quest to make Derek Hale happy. But surely that will all work out in time.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: What baking can do [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1626253
Comments: 199
Kudos: 1214





	1. Sugar. Butter. Flour.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [christinesficrecs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/christinesficrecs/gifts).



> This is super effing trope-y. Like, Derek is like the tortured hero from a period romance (tragic past, determined to torture himself over it) and Stiles is the workaholic MC from a Hallmark holiday movie (meets every manic pixie dream girl ever). And then the two meet because of a fake dating plot I pulled out of... somewhere.  
> Naturally this collection of tropes is dedicated to Christine. Because she is a GIFT.
> 
> Daily updates over the holidays!

The holiday season is probably the craziest time to be working in a bakery - and probably the best time to be owning a bakery, because holy shit do people love their baked goods at this time of year. They love their fancy hot drinks (pumpkin everything! Cinnamon hot chocolate!), and they love their pies and tarts and muffins and cake and simply everything that Stiles can create with his ever busy hands. 

It is also the time of year where Stiles most realizes just how much time he spends at work year-round. His friends only attempt to guilt-trip him about it during the holiday season, because they’ve suddenly decided that this is the time that one spends with family. And he suddenly qualifies now, because of reasons. 

Yeah, probably not too fair to his friends, but he’s getting more than a little sick of the accusations of him being a workaholic (probably true) and working so much so he doesn’t have to have a personal life (partly true) and him not wanting to spend time with them (patently untrue, unless they’re being like this). His Dad is the only one who seems to understand, because he too works a lot over the holidays (and even leading up to the holiday season) - as a single man with an adult son, he’d rather take the terrible shifts himself than assign them to any of the deputies with families of their own. 

He’s been doing this since Stiles was in middle school. Or actually, since Stiles’ mother died and the Sheriff just wanted to avoid the holiday season completely by burying himself either in a bottle or in his work. And Stiles will always think that the latter option is the right choice here, so he’s always settled for either lonely Christmases that his Dad tried to make up for later, or a lot of time spent with friends (usually Scott and Melissa). 

Now that his friends are adults (and Stiles is too, kind of, no matter how much he refuses) and have partners or even kids of their own… It’s a little weird for poor old single Stiles to drop into a seat at the McCall family dinner, or the annual Reyes Boxing Day brunch (that has since turned into a Boyd-Reyes Boxing Day brunch). His friends don’t dare to comment on it, but he knows it’s weird, and he knows they know it too. 

Shouldn’t he be too old for pity invites by now? 

Maybe he should get a fake girlfriend - or a fake boyfriend, he’s not picky - just for the holiday season. People do that all the time, right? Just ask a friend to spend the holidays with them because they’re sick of hearing about how single they are and how they could find someone if only they would put themselves out there already. 

But those people usually ask their friends to do them this ridiculous favor, and those are the very people he most needs to shut the fuck up about this already. There is literally no one in his life he could actually sell as a new partner (not to Scott and his inability to mind his own business), unless he literally starts to offer patrons free baked goods for the holiday season if they only pretend to be his significant other for his ridiculously nosy friends. Which he could absolutely do if he gets desperate, but he really does not want that to be his first choice. 

The last thing he needs is for it to get out among the lovely people in Beacon Hills that Stiles Stilinski is desperately looking for a date. He does not need that added to his already quite colorful reputation among the town residents. 

One good thing: the stress is keeping him so hyper that he easily keeps up with the ridiculous amount of baking that his shop requires. He gets up ridiculously early after barely getting to sleep because there was so much work to be done the night before, and he does it, well, not with a smile on his face, but at least without a frown. And that’s about the best he can do when he’s only running on a maximum of four hours of sleep per night. 

“Welcome to Mischief Bakery, how can I help you?” Stiles knows how to paste a fake customer service smile on his face, and he’s actually pretty good at it. 

This guy in front of him is… testing his resolve though. Stiles has seen him around once or twice, and he’s never once looked like he was less than furious with his general existence. Stiles isn’t sure whether it’s an extreme case of resting murderface, or a case of someone who actively hates all of existence. Which, sometimes on Mondays, Stiles can relate to like a lot. 

“Coffee, black,” Grumpy responds. “Please.” 

Yeah, so that last word is less than sincere, but last time Stiles had actually made Mr. Eyebrows wait until he’d said it. So at least he follows orders sort of well. 

“I’ll get right on that,” Stiles’ fake smile is showing some cracks, though. “Would you like anything else with that?” 

As usual, Resting Murderface (patent pending) hardly responds to that, though he does look at the display case with slightly less hate than he appears to have for the rest of humanity. So that’s something? Sort of? Maybe? Stiles really does not get this guy, not at all. 

“No thanks,” the guy finally says. 

And yes, the thanks is completely a Stiles forcing him thing. Which, Stiles is actually kind of proud of himself for it, and he’ll happily enforce the please and thank you rule in his shop for the rest of his pathetic life. Because yeah, he was a little shit as a kid (and as a teenager, and occasionally, in his twenties as well), but he learned really quickly not to be rude to service workers. And he’s going to pass on that lesson, because his Mom would love this. 

“Pretty soon I’m going to get offended, dude,” Stiles tries to get his banter on with the grumpiest guy in the shop. “I’m up at all hours of the night trying to bake all of these delicious treats and yet here you are, just completely disregarding my hard work. Are you allergic to anything? Because I have a selection of lactose free and gluten free treats, and anything with nuts in it is always separated from the other offerings. I’m really careful about allergens.” 

It’s not going to be that, because this guy is clearly one of those health nuts who are obsessed with organic food and kale and whatever it takes to have the ridiculous body that the guy insists on hiding underneath his scowl (and that gorgeous, worn down leather jacket). But Stiles likes banter, and he wants to get more out of this guy than just his order. 

It’s why he’s in a town as (relatively) small as Beacon Hills, when he could have set up shop anywhere. Sure, he likes being close to his friends and his Dad, but that is not the only reason why he is still here. The small-town, having actual regulars and people who ordered birthday cakes from him on the regular… That has always appealed to him, and the reality of it is even more awesome than he’d been expecting. Having a free gingerbread cookie ready on little Patrick’s birthday always earned him a smile from the boy’s mom, and a big tip too. 

“No thanks,” Grumpy repeats, and Stiles tries not to let his smile drop. 

“No problem,” the smile actually hurts now, but he keeps at it. “Here’s that coffee for you.” 

And before he can even mention the total, the guy’s already handed him a ten dollar bill and walked off. It’s way too much, but Stiles knows that Eyebrows knows that too. 

At least he tips well. That can be his redeeming quality. 

* * *

Later that night, when he finally gets a bit of a break because the high school student he hired to work the register part-time has arrived, he is mindlessly scrolling through social media feeds when he sees the oddest add, and he simply has to take a closer look. 

His mother let him call himself Mischief for a reason, after all. He is a mischievous little shit with insatiable curiosity issues and he will never be able to let things go - ever. Not Stiles, he is going to go to his grave holding on to that grudge against fucking Harris (and that’s just one of many, many examples). 

_ Want to skip that long, insulting conversation about how you’re still single? About how your parents really want more grandchildren? Well, look no further! _

This is the best thing ever, and Stiles is already hooked - his shitty impulse control is probably not going to let him finish reading this thing without getting way too invested in whatever this person is peddling. But that’s cool with him - as long as he doesn’t spend ridiculous amounts of money, there is room in his budget for impulse buying. For once it’s a good thing that he hardly ever leaves the house if it’s not for work - he simply does not have the time to spend a lot of money on anything. Except on the bakery, because all of his love and a lot of his money go right back into that place. Because it’s basically his life. 

Shut up, he’s not a pathetic loser. 

_ I am a 28 year old felon with no high school degree. I can play anywhere between the ages of 24 and 32 depending on if and when I shave. I work freelance jobs from home. If you’d like to have me as your strictly platonic date for the holidays, but have me pretend to be in a very long or serious relationship with you, to torment your family or friends, I’m game. _

Stiles is game. Stiles is so fucking game that he’s… insert metaphor here. He doesn’t even have an awesome joke or metaphor to go with, that’s how fucking game he is here. It’s a terrible idea and he loves it so very much. He simply has to do this! 

It’s going to end up with him having his kidneys stolen in a dark alley somewhere (does Beacon Hills even have dark alleys like that?) but he is absolutely going to do it anyway. He’s not going to tell anyone where he is going, because that would totally defeat the purpose of him having a secret boyfriend, and he is going to set up a meeting with a total stranger. 

He kind of wants to set it up at the bakery, but that leaves way too many eyes on them, because he is the owner, and he is the Sheriff’s son, and people absolutely know exactly who he is and what he is doing. Sometimes his Dad knows what’s going on with him before Stiles has even talked to him about it, because this town is filled with nosy busybodies who have a lot of opinions on Stiles and who he should and should not be talking to. This stranger is probably someone they would not approve of, and while Stiles would love holding that over their heads for fucking ever, caution might actually be the better option for once. 

Okay, it usually is, but this time Stiles is actually going to take that option. For once. 

The ad goes on to explain the many things that this guy is willing to do to make a total embarrassment of himself, and while Stiles would probably be amused by some of them, he doesn’t actually want this guy to be too much of an asshole. He kind of just wants to freak his friends out a little, not have them worried about his sanity, even for a prank. 

Though he loves a good prank. Always has, always will. 

_ I require no pay but the free meal I will receive as a guest! _

Yeah, and Stiles is not settling for just the free meal. If this guy agrees, Stiles is going to give him all the baked goods he was already mentally preparing for his last ditch option. Seriously, someone who did this just for a free meal was probably a really awesome person, and Stiles was not going to let him be taken advantage of. 

Also, he couldn’t just not bake someone something. He was just not someone who let people leave empty-handed. Not if they were doing him a huge fucking favor. 

So he finds himself trying to compose an email for a total stranger, trying to explain his situation while also checking if this guy isn’t homeless or a murderer. It’s a delicate balance, and Stiles has always been shit at delicacy - so the email is probably a torrid fucking mess, but he ends up being quite proud of it. So he sends it, and hopes for the best. 

_ Hey dude! I hope this is actually your real email address and not just a prank being played on you by an asshole friend. And I hope you’re not using it to catfish/embarrass/murder people. Or steal their organs. But you know, in the wise words of Rebecca Bunch: please don’t be a murderer.  _

_ So yeah, I was hoping to talk to you about that ad you just posted, about spending the holidays with my family/friends, possibly. If you want. No obligation to pick me, I’m sure the offers are rolling in. And I’m not even being sarcastic this time (I’m sarcastic a lot).  _

_ Here’s the sitch: I have my own business and therefore work 60-70 (to the occasional 80) hour weeks. My friends have decided this means I have no life and am using work to avoid intimacy. Which… It’s partly true, but they’re just rude about it. And I’m over the dinner parties that end up as blind dates and the pity invites. Oh dude, the pity invites.  _

_ I love them. And I hate them. Because that’s a friendship - they’re basically family. You have to hate your family from time to time, or they wouldn’t be family.  _

_ What I’d be asking: three full days. I don’t have a lot of friends (shocking!), but they do tend to schedule their holiday plans so that I don’t get the chance to feel lonely. They’re assholes like that. Christmas Eve is a fancy dinner at my friend Lydia’s place. Expect outfits that cost more than a car and too many fucking forks (and I’m in the food industry, so!). Christmas Day is Scott’s day, so we get there in the early afternoon (I bring the baked goods and the presents for his kids), exchange some presents and then do some holiday movies and video games until his mom gets off shift and brings the most delicious tamales you’ve ever eaten. And then Boxing Day is brunch with Boyd and Erica (and maybe some family members). Erica’s pregnant, so there will be significantly less mimosas this year, but we can handle it.  _

_ Do you drink? Any allergies? Have to ask, because I don’t want to bring treats/baked goods you can’t eat. That would suck, for you. Since all you’re asking for is a free meal. Which dude, for three days of work? You’re definitely getting ripped off.  _

_ Don’t do that to yourself.  _

_ Stiles _

_ (Oh, yeah, that’s my name. You will not be allowed to use my actual name. Only my Dad is) _

So yeah. He’s pretty happy with it, even though he’s on pins and needles waiting for this stranger to get back to him. 

* * *

It only takes a couple of hours, but to Stiles it doesn’t feel like only anything, because he’s bared his fucking heart like a total idiot and this stranger could just… be an asshole who’s trying to find out what kind of losers respond to an ad like this. That would really, really suck. Not as much as it would if it turns out this guy is actually a murderer, but well, right now he’s not so worried about the murder thing. The embarrassment feels worse somehow. 

He stares at the unread email in his inbox for a few minutes before he actually dares to open and read it. Because this is the pre-moment of truth. The moment in which he actually meets this guy, the one just going by “D” for now, that will be the actual moment of truth. 

_ Hello Stiles. _

_ We should meet to discuss this. I live just outside of Beacon Hills. Do you know the hiking trails in the Preserve? Meet at the start of the trail tonight at 10 pm. It should be private. _

_ I’m not a murderer.  _

_ D _

Wow, that is so reassuring. Not really, but the fact that this D guy wants to meet at all, is kind of awesome in itself. It means that he hasn’t immediately counted Stiles out because he basically sent this guy an essay - well, not by Stiles’ standards, but it’s not like this stranger knows that. He will soon, but he doesn’t know yet. 

Yes, by ‘he will soon’, Stiles means that he has already decided to meet this guy, even though December evenings are probably one of the creepiest times to be in the Preserve. Halloween and the season around that are the only worse time to be there. And this guy probably knows that, and invites him to that particular place anyway, because… Well, Stiles doesn’t really understand why, but he clearly does not have enough common sense to choose another place to meet. At least the Preserve at night will be private. 

Meeting a felon in a dark forest is probably exactly the thing his Dad told him to never do, but Stiles has never actually been all that great at listening. Well, okay, at listening to the things he didn’t want to hear. That is the real issue here. 

But he is going to do it anyway, and in order to get to the Preserve in time, he probably has to get going pretty damn soon, too. It’s not that far away, but his Jeep is and will always be a temperamental piece of shit (sorry Roscoe, he really does love her), and he can’t be sure that she will start on the first or even the second go. And if she doesn’t start at all, Stiles would still like to get there on time - but that is not going to happen. 

So he keeps his fingers crossed the whole time he cleans up, and since he usually closes at nine anyway, there is no one left to kick out. Mason had gone home about half an hour ago, and just because Stiles usually didn’t leave until closer to midnight, didn’t mean that he couldn’t change things up every once in a while. Just because he has plans with a creepy stranger in a dark forest (yay life choices!). That he is not even going to tell everyone about (even better!). 

He locks up and gets into his car, and Roscoe actually starts on the first go - so clearly his meeting with D is meant to be. That’s what that means. 

“Please don’t be a murderer,” he continues humming the song under his breath as he drives, cursing Roscoe’s shitty radio in his head. 

When he realizes what the rest of the song is about, he shuts up immediately, because he does not need to tempt the fates by putting those thoughts in his head. It’s crowded enough in there, and he doesn’t need more embarrassing stuff crowding in - there’s already way too much to choose from, and if he embarrasses himself in front of D, he might end up without a date for the holidays. And he really cannot do another year of this shit by himself. 

With a silent prayer to the God of death (not today), he parks the car near the hiking trails. Of course Roscoe is the only car there, because that just makes it extra creepy. When he kills the headlights, he is basically surrounded by darkness. Stiles is not scared of the dark, but it’s been a while since he’s spend any solid amount of time in the dark without a convenient light switch nearby somewhere. This is… different. 

He gets out of the car anyway, stumbling around a little on the uneven ground. He’s not the most graceful person even when he can see where he’s going. This is only making it worse, but he doesn’t want to risk freaking people - mostly D - out by using his phone light. 

There is no way he can see D coming, so maybe that’s why D chose this place. To keep his identity secret for a little while longer, until he chooses to reveal himself to Stiles. Or maybe he’s hiding behind a bush somewhere with his friends, and they are just waiting to pants Stiles or steal his car or phone or something stupid like that. If that happens, he will never be able to live it down. His Dad is going to make fun of him forever, probably. 

And really, he wouldn’t be able to blame him for that. 

“Stiles,” a gruff voice sounds in the dark night. 

“D?” 

It’s probably a stupid question to ask, but he really needs this guy to confirm his identity before they get anywhere. Not that an initial is much of an identity, but Stiles can work with it, for now. He eventually needs to have an actual name to use in front of his friends - and his Dad - if they decide to go ahead with this. 

Stiles really wants to go ahead with this. 

“Yes,” another gruff response. 

“Great,” Stiles is a little more loquacious. “I’m hoping you’re not a murderer, as you said in your email. This is kind of taking a lot on faith, dude. The Preserve is kinda gorgeous, but not so much when it’s pitch fucking black out here and I can’t see two feet in front of me. Even though the moon is lighting my way a little. But yeah, way to ask a total stranger to meet you at a potential murder site. Guess I’m an idiot for saying yes, huh?” 

Yeah, he can answer his own question there. He totally is. He is a total and complete and ridiculous idiot, and it is going to get him killed someday. Hopefully not this day. 

“Yes.” 

“Thanks,” Stiles is kind of appreciative of that dry wit. “So, how do you wanna do this?” 

The association with rolling some dice and killing a monster will never not be there for him, but that’s okay. This guy doesn’t look like he knows what a con-save is, so Stiles is not going to get into it with him, but it’s a nice private little joke to amuse himself. 

“Three days is acceptable,” D has formed an actual sentence. 

“Great!” Stiles still feels the need to fill the awkward silence. “So you’d mostly be hanging out with my friends, but there is a chance that you’d meet my Dad at some point. He’s the Sheriff. And I totally get it if that’s a dealbreaker, with your… background. So if you wanna walk away right now, just tell me. And I hope that I’ll be able to find my way back to my Jeep without breaking something vital.” 

The odds of that are probably ridiculously low, and it is going to suck to have to explain to his friends how he broke his arm/leg/etc. But if D really isn’t interested in hanging out with the Sheriff and his son, he’ll have to. He hasn’t thought of it before, but he can totally see why it would be a dealbreaker for a felon - if he’s been in Beacon Hills a while, he probably has had dealings with his father. Professional dealings - the ones that end with handcuffs. 

“You’re Mieczyslaw Stilinski,” D manages to pronounce his name perfectly on the first go. 

“No,” Stiles vehemently shakes his head. “I told you that you would not be allowed to use my real name. My friends don’t even get to use that one.” 

Scott doesn’t even know how to pronounce it, and they’ve been friends forever. But also, he’s Scott. And that kind of explains… well, everything. Because Scott may speak Spanish quite adequately, and he learned conversational French because of Allison, but it’s not like he has any kind of skill with languages. Mostly, it’s hilarious to hear him try. 

“And your boyfriend?” D asks, like he likes getting away on a technicality. 

“Oh, you are such a…” Stiles trails off, trying to find the right words to say. “That is very clever of you. Maybe. You might get an exception, if I decide to grant you that right. You might get bonus points by explaining to me how you managed to pronounce my name so well. You’re almost better at it than I am, and it’s my name. Okay, no, fuck that, you’re not better than I am. But you’re better than every teacher I’ve ever had. You actually sound Polish.” 

For Polish speakers, Mieczyslaw isn’t actually a terribly difficult name - but for most native English speakers, it’s a challenge they are not willing to rise to. That is why Mischief happened, and why it has always been easier to go by Stiles than to have one more teacher stare at his name with terror in their eyes. It is why over the years, he’s gotten progressively more embarrassed about his real name, and why he stopped using it after his mom passed. Not even his Dad uses it much these days - only when talking about Mom. 

“I speak Polish,” D responds. 

“That sounds like a story I need to know,” Stiles is not demanding at all. 

Okay, he is, probably, but he does not know a lot of Polish-speaking people. Especially not in Beacon Hills.  _ Babcia _ is still in the old country, and so are some cousins on Mom’s side. And usually the reminder of his Mom hurts, but sometimes he just gets so nostalgic for someone to talk to him in Polish, to tease him like his mother used to. 

Not that he remembers much Polish - barring the bimonthly phone calls (or Skype calls) to his babcia, he hardly ever gets to use it. 

“No.” 

“Ugh, not even for your boyfriend?” Stiles is actually pouting now, even though D probably will not be able to see it. “If you get to use my name?” 

It is still pretty close to pitch black, and he just hopes that he is facing the direction D is in, because if not, that is super embarrassing. He just has no idea who he is talking to, really, because he hasn’t been able to see D at all. Not that it matters all that much what D looks like - Stiles is completely down to have him as a fake boyfriend regardless of what he looks like. He likes what he’s heard from D so far - he wants to find out more. 

But so far D does not seem particularly inclined to tell him anything. 

“Your father is not a deal-breaker,” D completely changes the subject. 

“Great,” Stiles decides to just go along with it, for once. “Is there anything else that we need to discuss? Do you want me to call you D? What can I tell my friends about you? Stuff like that.” 

Stiles is already trying to put together a fake relationship story in his head. He has to establish a timeline - something relatively recent, but serious enough to invite D over to his family for the holidays. And there has to be a reason that he’s not with D’s family, so… They’re abroad? Or estranged? He doesn’t want to go too dark, doesn’t want to pretend they’re dead, so maybe abroad or on the East Coast would be the best story. 

“I can’t use a fake name,” D sounds distinctly unhappy about this. 

“Because of my Dad?” Stiles asks the obvious question. “Because if I tell him he needs to back off, there is a fifty-fifty chance that he will listen to me.” 

More like seventy-thirty in the Sheriff’s favor, but that is not something he is ever going to tell D - because he is going to try to make it as easy as possible for D to feel safe around his Dad, no matter how awkward and difficult it might get for Stiles. 

“He’ll remember,” D’s tone is actually ominous now, and Stiles is not freaking out. “He was the one who pulled me back, kept me from trying to go back into the house. And his partner proceeded to arrest me.” 

Those are some major hints that D is dropping here, and it seems like he is expecting Stiles to put it all together just from that. And Stiles is good at research, so the odds are pretty good that he is actually going to figure out, just from two very basic hints. Or maybe basic is not the right word here. Simple? Short? Something like that. 

The Sheriff pulled him back once upon a time, to keep him from entering a house. Why would a Sheriff (or maybe even a Deputy, if it was a while ago) keep someone from entering a house? It was a crime scene? No, that usually wouldn’t mean the Sheriff would physically pull someone back. Not unless it was… on fire! The house was on fire. And because Beacon Hills is such a small town, this combined with the arrest… It is easy to put it together. 

Because there is only one guy who got arrested after being dragged away from a burning house. And that guy is...

“Derek Hale,” Stiles finally looks into D’s face. 

And recognizes him in more than one way. Because this is Eyebrows. Grumpy. Resting Murderface. The guy from the bakery with the grumpy attitude. And well, now that Stiles knows that he’s Derek Hale… It kind of explains a lot. 

“I get it if that means you want to leave,” D - Derek - does not sound like he actually understands - or just like he doesn’t care. 

It just sucks for him that Stiles knows better than that. Because he may have been a youngster at the time of the fire (shit, has it really been thirteen years), but he remembers what his Dad told him about it. He remembers his parents (his Mom was still around, but starting to forget things far too easily) talking about how much that day had affected his Dad. 

The stories about the fire are almost impossible to forget, about how Derek and Laura had come home late from school (Laura because of detention and Derek because he’d had basketball practice) only to find their house going up in flames, their uncle Peter trying desperately to enter the house to save his family but risking his own health to do so. Laura had gone into shock, and Derek had attempted to help his uncle. 

Deputy Stilinski had just arrived on the scene, and forcibly dragged a ridiculously strong fifteen year old boy away from the flames and tried to keep him calm and safe and away from the flames. And then the boy started talking, started apologizing, started saying how this was all his fault and he didn’t mean for it to happen but he told her how to get in and he didn’t know - babbling is what Janusz Stilinski called it. A confession is what the Sheriff at the time said. 

Thirteen years later, now Sheriff Stilinski still digs up the old casefile at least once a year to try and find out who the ‘her’ was that Derek talked about that day. He hasn’t had any luck. 

“I’m not leaving,” Stiles is a stubborn asshole, and Derek should know that. “Yes, it means I know more about you than a random stranger off a random ad probably should. But if you’re willing to put yourself through that, I’m still in. I’m all in.” 

The declaration sounds almost romantic, and he tries not to lean into that too much, because boy is this the wrong context for that kind of talk. He is just a boy (man?) standing in front of another man, hoping to make a difference in his life somehow. A positive difference, because it doesn’t look like Derek has had much of that in his life in the last… thirteen years. 

“Sure,” Derek continues to be taciturn. 

Okay, no, this is going to have to change. And Stiles is going to make it - because he believes in leaving things better than where they were when he found them, and that principle certainly applies to Derek. Life has dealt him the worst of cards, and instead of lashing out at the world, Derek holds back and offers the occasional kindness to a stranger. 

Fuck, it’s probably because he’s lonely. 

“If it’s okay with you,” Stiles starts, hesitant, unsure, “I’m going to tell my friends that we met up again at the bakery. And we’re taking it slow, and they are not allowed to be assholes to you or to ask questions about anything other than what you could possibly see in me.” 

Yes, that is the patented Stiles Stilinski protective mode that he just engaged. Because someone has to look after this guy, and… no one else appears to be doing it. Derek isn’t even looking after himself, it seems. Not in any way more than perfunctory, the basics. 

“I don’t mind.” 

And that is clearly a lie, and for a second Stiles wonders if he should call Derek out on it, or if that is only going to make things worse. He doesn’t want Derek to reject him before he can start to kill him with kindness. 

After all, Derek Hale deserves nice things. And Stiles Stilinski can totally be a nice thing. 


	2. What baking can do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to get that plan on the road.   
> In this chapter: fake boyfriends at the bakery & PRACTICE KISSING.

Over the course of the next few days, he creates a plan. Okay, well, multiple versions of the same plan. One of those versions can be disclosed to Derek, and the real plan is just for him and him alone. Because Derek does not look like the kind of guy who would be happy with someone coming up with a full on plan to make him happy. No sir. 

Stiles Stilinski, getting overinvested? Honestly, no one should be surprised. 

The plan starts here, with Erica visiting him at the bakery, because she’s on maternity leave and she’s just so bored. Not actually because the baby demands treats, which is the excuse she is sticking with right now. He can see right through her, but he is definitely still going to humor her because she is growing an actual human being inside of her and she deserves all of the treats in the world. And she’s great at being a taste tester for new stuff. 

Right now though, Erica can stay not just for the treats, but also because she can be the first person he’s introducing to the idea of notorious bachelor Stiles Stilinski actually having a real life boyfriend that he might be bringing to Christmas brunch with the family. Well, okay, he is going to start with the boyfriend bit, and then Erica will take it from there. 

“Boyd the fourth is kicking again,” she announces happily, albeit a bit pained. 

“Are you actually going to name the squirt Vernon Boyd IV?” Stiles just has to ask. “Because in some places they would call that child abuse. And I think Boyd agrees with me.” 

Which is evident by the fact that no one Boyd actually likes uses his first name, because that boy is no Vernon. And for Erica to want to do that to another generation of Boyds? That would suck - and Stiles knows. Him and Boyd commiserate about their names from time to time, and how choosing your own name should be an option. And there is no way that Boyd would advocate for doing this to his kid, his son. 

“Boyd is not the one carrying this baby,” Erica always has to play the trump card when this topic comes up. “And if he comes up with a better suggestion, I’m happy to hear it. And no, that’s not an invitation to send me suggestions of your own. I’ve already rejected Han and Luke - if you send me Anakin or Obi-Wan I will actually hurt you.” 

Well, he’s got a couple other suggestions that may be a bit more normal. Finn is a perfectly lovely name that any boy would be proud to have. Not the point, though, because Stiles’ idea of cool names doesn’t exactly match up with what most people think is an awesome name. Though he would totally name his daughter Leia, and he wouldn’t even be ashamed of it, because it’s a lovely name. Though sometimes he has less common ideas, even though he knows what a weird or difficult name can do to a kid. 

“It’s probably a good thing I don’t have kids to name,” Stiles is happy to make fun of himself. 

“And never will if you keep going like this,” Erica rolls her eyes at him, perpetually ready to join in on the fun. “Seriously, Stiles, I know we’re all boring old married people, but you haven’t had a boyfriend or girlfriend in years. Doesn’t your hand get tired?” 

And here it comes, just like he’d been expecting. 

Sure, it’s usually just Erica with the crude masturbation jokes, but the sentiment is pretty similar to what he hears from Scott and Kira, and from Lydia (never from Jackson, because he doesn’t actually care, he says), and even from Isaac and Allison from time to time. At least his Dad hasn’t said anything about grandchildren yet, which makes him a safe haven, even though Stiles knows he worries from time to time. No one wants someone they love to be alone. Not even if they’re perfectly happy that way. 

“I’m not sixteen anymore,” Stiles argues. “I don’t need to do it several times a day anymore just to get through the day. Stiff breezes don’t give me a hard-on anymore. My hand is just fine. And that’s both hands. I like to switch it up from time to time. Though, well…” 

Erica is going to latch on to that hint of hesitation, which is why he made himself pause and act unsure. Maybe he should feel a little shitty about manipulating one of his closest friends, but it’s not like they’ve never attempted to manipulate him into dating someone. They’ve set him up on dates so many times, and usually he didn’t even know beforehand that he’d be going on a date. 

“Well?” Erica is like a shark, smelling blood. 

“I’m switching it up a bit more than usual,” he shrugs, acting like it’s no big deal, just to draw Erica in even more. “Stiff breezes don’t do it for me, but…” 

Stiles is pretty good at playing the part of the besotted dork - because he’s been friends with Scott for pretty much forever, and the besotted dork is kind of where Scott lives. So he’s good at not quite blushing, at acting like he wants to talk about this person so badly but never actually talking about them until he’s been given the go-ahead. Not that Scott waited for the go-ahead a lot back in the day. But Scott wasn’t pretending to hide something. 

“You’re into someone!” Erica is clearly thrilled. 

Hook, line, and sinker. 

“Fuck,” Stiles pretends to hate being caught out. 

“Don’t front with me, Batman,” Erica is still crowing in triumph. “You can act all bashful and whoops I didn’t mean to reveal that, but you’re just dying to talk about them.” 

Okay, so if this were in any way real, he probably would be, yes. He would be dying to tell Erica all about how awesome this person is and how he cannot believe that they are actually into him when they’re so awesome that they’re kind of out of his league. Because somehow, sometimes Stiles is still the insecure sophomore who was in love with Lydia Martin even though she didn’t even know his name. At least he’s not that emotionally involved this time. 

“I met him at the bakery,” Stiles really is dying to talk about Derek, though. “He’s all gruff at first, but he’s a sweetheart underneath. And you know I like the rude boys.” 

What? Erica is totally the friend he does quote unquote girl talk with. Even though he thinks it’s stupid that people call it girl talk, and Erica agrees. But they talk about, well, most everything together because their boundaries are kind of non-existent at this point. And Erica usually has good advice after the hooting and hollering and teasing him about falling for assholes with big dicks or bitches who pout at him and show their cleavage all the damn time. 

Stiles historically does not always have great taste - aesthetically, sure, but when it comes to personalities, he has no been picking out winners. Not so far. 

Erica grins at the mental images. “Rihanna reference aside...” 

“We’re taking it slow,” Stiles ducks his head, trying to be at his most adorable. “He’s had a rough time of it, and people here can be judgy. So we’re not holding hands and skipping through town, but… He’s kind of… I’m a little… He’s… Well, I like him.” 

How to describe Derek Hale in a way that won’t give it away right away? How to describe Derek Hale in a kind way? How to describe Derek Hale? 

Because most of what Stiles knows about Derek is gossip, or tales he’s been told by his Dad - he’s more likely to believe the latter, naturally. But he’s gotten very little information straight from the source, and it’s not looking likely that he’ll get any more than what he already has. Because Derek gives a whole new meaning to the words ‘closed off’. 

“Was that so hard?” Erica has to mock. 

Dirty joke or something genuine? What is the right option here? 

Of course that is the exact moment that the man himself walks into the bakery, looking relatively put together (by Derek’s standards), but also a little like life has been kicking him in the teeth already today. So Stiles knows he has to be gentle - but not too gentle because it is unlikely that Derek will respond well to anything resembling pity. It is unlikely that Derek will respond well to any kindness (he’s just not used to it anymore, and that’s just sad and pisses Stiles off at the same time), but that is something he’s going to do regardless. 

“Hey,” Stiles says, making his voice soften. “Were your ears burning?”

Said ears turn slightly red as Derek catches Erica’s eye. Because she is completely obvious about the way she looks Derek up and down and then gives Stiles a thumbs-up. At least that’s one part of her approval down, though Stiles does not think she’s realized that this is Derek Hale that she is ogling right now. 

“Stiles,” Derek goes for a mix of bashful and gruff. 

“I promise I’m not telling her all the details,” he makes a sloppy Scout’s honor gesture over his chest. “Another black coffee? On the house.”

Part of this is just because he wants Derek to have all the things. Especially all the nice things, and for Derek those nice things may be basic things like crappy black coffee. Though Stiles is absolutely going to keep pushing for him to accept bigger and better things. He can start small with those - hah, is that irony? It might be. 

“I can pay,” Derek is stubborn, because of course he is. 

“I know you can,” Stiles is quick to reassure him, smiling softly at Derek. “But these are just dating the owner perks. Occasionally I just want to give you stuff for free. But only if you take some of these baked goods off my hands too.”

Erica is still watching the show very closely, Stiles can basically feel her eyes on the both of them at all times. This is probably better and more entertaining than the cheesy movies she has waiting for her at home, and maybe if she gets invested in the show, she’ll tell everyone else for them. That way he won’t have to do this all over again in front of Scott and Kira, or Allison and Isaac, or even Lydia or Jackson. 

Sure, they didn’t plan for Derek to come in as he was talking to Erica. That’s just a nice bonus - unless Derek saw this happening from the window and decided to come in because of it. That seems premeditated, but he doubts that Derek would go that far. 

“Come on, Der,” he is pouting at him, but trying to keep it light and teasing. “Treat yourself.”

He can hear Erica muttering the Treat Yoself theme in the background, and he is trying so hard not to make that distract him from Derek. It is working pretty well so far, but he knows he’s gonna be making a bunch of jokes about it later, after Derek has left. 

“You choose,” Derek finally decides. 

The grin on Stiles’ face is completely real because Derek is actually going to try something that Stiles has made, and the first time someone tries some of his stuff is always kind of a special moment for him. He is suddenly struck with the desperate urge to see the exact look on Derek’s face as he takes that first bite. 

Fuck, he really hopes Derek likes it. What if he hates it? 

Okay, it’s not like Derek’s potential appreciation for Stiles’ baked goods is actually a make or break type deal, but somehow it really does matter to him. It’s stupid and ridiculous, but he really fucking cares if Derek likes his food. 

And Stiles has to choose? But which treat is perfect for Derek? He has to get the right one on the first go, otherwise Derek will never try anything else ever again. And that will be all Stiles’ fault, and that will mean that he has failed. Failed Derek, and even though it’s probably so silly, no one is ever allowed to fail Derek ever again, even on something this frivolous. 

“Did I break you?” Derek sounds worried. 

Well, he honestly might have. 

“Uh,” Stiles can’t do much more than make that noise. 

Because there’s the lemon squares, but what if Derek doesn’t like lemons? And there’s muffins, some of them with interesting flavor combinations, but aren’t muffins too basic for a first attempt? Maybe he should pick a cake or a nice slice of pie. And he hasn’t even considered the black coffee - because whatever he chooses needs to go well with the bitterness of coffee. 

Wait, does drinking black coffee mean that Derek doesn’t like sweet things? Maybe he needs to choose something more tart or sour or… Fuck. 

“Comfort him,” Erica chimes in, directing Derek with a hand on her belly the whole time. 

She doesn’t even get up, because she’s got the perfect view from where she’s sitting. She’s basically directing, and her leading men just have to follow orders. Maybe he should tell her to change careers - she’d undoubtedly excel at it. 

“Stiles,” Derek actually seems to follow orders. “Just take a deep breath. It’s okay. Whatever you choose will be fine.”

Derek’s hand reaches over the counter and Stiles just... lets Derek hold his hand - because that’s part of the cover they’re establishing here, after all. Erica will report on it to everyone else, and Stiles can just take a deep breath and try to adjust to a world in which there is someone willing to hold his hand in a silent show of support. That’s new. 

“But what if you don’t like it?” Stiles pouts, playing it up a little. 

The clinging to Derek’s hand is not played up. It’s a little pathetic, but it works for the plan and only Stiles will know the truth. Probably. 

“I’ll like it,” Derek nods, as if that’s an official Derek Hale promise. 

“Okay,” Stiles smiles slightly and then packages up a lemon square. 

And the pear and ginger muffins, because he thinks they turned out well and it’s an odd flavor pairing that might interest Derek. And he’s still debating a third option when a hand settles over his. It’s Derek, again, still with the resting murderface but with gentle movements.

“That’s plenty, Stiles,” he says. 

“Right,” Stiles nods along. “We don’t want me to go bankrupt.” 

Derek tries to smile at that, and Stiles appreciates the effort - and he hopes Derek still has his back to Erica, because boy does that look more like a grimace than an actual grin. Maybe Derek needs lessons before he can take him anywhere. Because if he makes this face anywhere around Lydia, she is going to see through the whole thing right away. 

“When will I see you again?” Stiles asks, before thinking better of it. 

“I’ll text,” Derek promises, even though he looks slightly caught off guard by Stiles’ question. “Or call, if you have time.” 

They exchanged numbers through email this morning, so at least they have actually exchanged numbers - otherwise this would be too much of a lie for even Stiles to pull off. Because Erica is probably going to expect Stiles’ phone to ring or at least buzz within the next half hour or so. And Stiles would not put it past her to stick around here until that happens - just so she has more gossip to pass on to her husband (and their friends). 

“I’ll make time,” Stiles tells him, every inch the besotted idiot. 

He can see Erica’s face from behind Derek, and she is eating it up. She is buying this, because Stiles is letting himself be soft and adorable - and because Derek physically reached for him. It is a huge step for both of them, and Erica seems to know that. It should make him feel guilty for lying, but well… It doesn’t. Because he’s an asshole. 

“I have to go,” Derek says, his fingers lingering on Stiles’. 

“No kissing at work,” Stiles blurts out, already feeling the blotchy flush on his cheeks. 

Derek pales, and it’s a good thing Erica can’t see that. 

“Talk to you later,” Stiles turns Derek’s hand on his into a caress. 

“Yes,” Derek lets go of his hand so fucking slowly. 

And then he leaves, walks out of the bakery with his cup of coffee and his pastries and a not quite as murderous look on his face. And Stiles watches him leave, and not just because of the superficial ‘love to watch him go’ type of thing. It’s because he’s trying to put his brain back together after everything that has happened in this very short amount of time. 

“Stiles, was that Derek  _ Hale _ ?” Erica emphasizes the last name. 

“Yes.”

There’s no use denying it - he’s surprised that Erica didn’t recognize him sooner. Isn’t Derek a Boo Radley-esque feature of this town by now? No matter how heartbreaking that is. 

“Your mystery boyfriend is Derek Hale,” Erica is trying really hard not to sound surprised. 

“Yeah,” Stiles ducks his head. “I really like him. Did you see him hold my hand? He’s just… he has to relearn kindness a bit. He hasn’t had a lot of that. But he’s good to me. He makes me smile. And someday, when he lets himself be funny again on purpose, he’ll make me laugh too.”

Erica softens, and Stiles knows. Step one is complete. 

* * *

This is a terrible idea. 

But Derek is already here, and he can’t just call it off because he realized he has the worst habit of letting his mouth (or his clever texting fingers) get ahead of his brain. Why did he even think of this? Was it the rom-coms Erica somehow managed to sneak into his Netflix queue? That seems likely, because where else would he have gotten the idea of a practice session? 

Derek is at Stiles’ place, over the bakery, just to practice being Stiles’ boyfriend. Derek is there to practice hand holding, and maybe some smiling, and probably some touching and some actual fucking kissing because if he knows his friends at all (and he really does) there will be a metric fuckton of mistletoe at every single activity he will attend with Derek. 

And Stiles will be damned if they have an awkward first kiss under the mistletoe while all of his friends are watching them - and watching them far too closely for anyone to be comfortable with it. He knows Derek will be supremely uncomfortable with it, because usually people are watching him for all the wrong reasons. 

“Okay, so my friends are assholes,” Stiles starts off on the exact right foot. 

“This is not news to me,” Derek gets a little sassy with him. 

Yeah, that is exactly the kind of thing that Derek needs to do around Stiles’ friends. Because Stiles needs sarcasm to live, basically, and they will never buy this relationship if Derek doesn’t tease Stiles at least a little bit. And he needs to make fun of Stiles - it’s not a degradation kink, but Stiles has always liked people who gave him shit from time to time. He doesn’t like yes-men, people who always agree with everything he does - he doesn’t even agree with some of the shit he does, and his ideal partner would absolutely call him on his shit. 

“I like that,” Stiles completely ruins the mood. 

“What?” Derek has learned to use some inflection in his voice. 

It’s progress, or at least that is what Stiles calls it. Derek is coming out of his shell a little, saying more than three words at one time, and using those ridiculously expressive eyebrows to convey his sass and/or sarcasm. Derek is displaying an actual personality and Stiles is delighted, but hesitant to push Derek too far too soon. 

“Sarcasm,” he says. “I like it when you get all sarcastic and sassy with me. I like that about you.” 

Derek doesn’t respond to that - he makes the recalibrating face that he usually gets when Stiles completely throws him for a loop. And for such a relatively short acquaintance, Stiles has already seen him make the face about a dozen times. Because Stiles is not always particularly consistent and he likes surprising people with new facets of himself. Which is something Derek would know if they were actually dating, so… It’s almost like practice. 

But that would be taking the easy way out. 

“Thanks?” More sass. 

Stiles is dying over here, because Derek gets progressively more attractive when he feels at ease, unzipping the leather jacket that he could have sworn was physically attached to him before. He shows off a soft-looking Henley, and peeks of chest hair that make Stiles drool a little bit. Because Derek is hot, and sometimes Stiles forgets that until he is forcibly reminded. 

“So, practice?” Derek is the one who breaks the silence. 

“Yeah, I said that didn’t I?” Stiles is still kicking himself for that. 

He hasn’t kissed anyone new in a while - he’s been too busy for even a one night stand - and he doubts Derek has been any more active. Though maybe Derek is a one night stand type of person. Probably more so than a relationship person. Derek doesn’t seem to trust people much. 

Which makes complete sense in his situation, so Stiles should not judge. 

“It’s not a completely terrible idea,” Derek is taking the sarcasm and running with it. 

“Thanks,” Stiles pointedly rolls his eyes at Derek. 

Derek uses the Brows of Sass in return. “Where do you want to start?” 

Oh boy, Derek really should not be letting Stiles lead, because he’s got a whole bunch of crazy ideas born of those cheesy rom-coms and speed reading through a whole bunch of fanfiction late at night. Because they have the best ideas about fake relationships, and Stiles loves a good happy ending - no dirty joke intended, for once. 

“What are you comfortable with?” Stiles is happy to negotiate. 

Of course Derek just shrugs. “Anything.” 

Which is a filthy, filthy lie if Stiles has ever seen one. Is Derek actually comfortable with anything, really? He was pretty good with the hand thing when he met Erica, but he had to be encouraged by Erica, and he looked vaguely uncomfortable the whole damn time. 

And once again, Stiles can’t blame him, not with his background. But it does make him wonder why Derek thought it was a good idea to do this in the first place. He doesn’t actually seem to want to be close to people at all. So does he feel like he has to do this? Does he feel like this is the only way he can have a legit Christmas dinner again? Stiles doesn’t get the why here. 

He likes understanding things, understanding people. And Derek remains annoyingly, intriguingly enigmatic. Stiles loves a good mystery. 

“Yeah, you’re full of shit,” Stiles tries to treat Derek as he would any of his friends. 

No response, because that was probably too far. Fuck, he’s shit at this. 

“Because you’re the master of composure here,” Derek arches his brows. 

Stiles just bursts into loud peals of laughter, because he’s nervous and on edge and Derek is secretly funny and this is not as sexy as those E-rated stories made it seem. But then again, his life is basically G-rated (jerking off aside), so what did he expect? 

“Okay,” Stiles sighs as he gets his laughter back to a manageable level. “I’m not expecting us to start grinding up on each other in Lydia’s pantry, but my friends will probably expect some level of PDA from the both of us. I’m not that much of a horndog in public, but I have a bit of an exhibitionism kink and when I’m with someone, I’m not a super hands-off person. Except if they’re uncomfortable with it, and… I think you would be uncomfortable with my brand of PDA.”

Stiles’ brand of PDA can be a bit much for most people. And Derek is not like most people when it comes to his boundaries. And Stiles would hate to trample all over them just to sell a silly piece of fiction for a night or three. It’s not worth hurting Derek over. 

“Try me,” Derek is steeling himself. 

“Yeah, that’s exactly why we’re not doing that,” Stiles calls him out on it. “You look like you’re getting ready for a fight, instead of some touching and light fooling around. Okay, and maybe some not so accidentally getting caught in a linen closet at Lydia’s.” 

It certainly has been a while since Stiles had anyone to get caught with, but he still remembers how things were with Malia back in high school, and then with Thomas in college. He couldn’t keep his hands off them, and didn’t want to go a night without touching them intimately and having them touch him in return. But mostly touching them, because Stiles is a giver, and he likes making people feel so good, likes that they’ll associate that good feeling with him. 

And Derek… he doesn’t want any of that. He didn’t ask for it. 

“How about you trust me to know my own boundaries?” Derek growls. 

“How about you give me some actual boundaries?” Stiles returns, because he isn’t scared of Derek at all, and he refuses to let him win. 

Yeah, Stiles’ competitive nature is going to continue to make an appearance, and Derek had better learn to deal with that now, before he has to get into a silly argument in front of all of Stiles’ friends because Stiles simply cannot let him win if there is still breath in his body. 

“Fine,” Derek huffs, and Stiles knows he’s won. “No touching my stomach unless I specifically tell you it’s okay. No calling me sweetheart ever. And if Chris Argent tries to talk to me, you get me the hell out of there. I don’t care if you tell them all you’re going to fuck me in the linen closet. You just get me the hell out.” 

Okay, not quite what Stiles was expecting, but that is definitely stuff that he can work with. He wonders how much of this is because of her - how much of this is made up of triggers, and how much of it of Derek’s actual boundaries. Does he even have those? 

“Deal,” Stiles holds out his hand for Derek to shake. “I’m ticklish near my ribs, so don’t go there unless you want me to shriek like a fucking hyena. Babe or baby is totally acceptable, but if you call me honey I will burst into tears because that’s my mom’s and you can’t have it. And if it ever looks like I am going to punch Jackson Whittemore in his smug face, you either encourage me and pay my bail, or you get me the hell out of there by promising sex.” 

Not too weird, right? Derek can surely handle that. 

“Agreed,” Derek shakes his hand and then doesn’t let go. 

Stiles waits for whatever comes next, and he is pleasantly surprised when Derek manages to turn the handshake into actual hand holding, intertwining their fingers like they’re the most adorable couple in Beacon Hills. It’s nice though, because Derek’s hands are big and strong and warmer than Stiles had been expecting. And less rough. He’d imagined there would be more calluses on those strong hands. Not so much, though. 

“You’re the master of hand holding,” Stiles teases after either a couple of seconds or an hour. 

Time? What is that? The world seems like it’s slowing down, everything is centered on the way Derek’s thumb is gently moving back and forth against his. It is sending shivers down his spine, ones that he really does not want to have to explain to anyone. Such a simple touch getting to him so much, it’s surprising. He doesn’t even want to move at all, because Derek is settling into a bit of a rhythm and it is stupidly soothing. 

“Sarcasm retracted,” Stiles decides, his voice lower now. 

“Good,” Derek responds, and then he stops. 

Which is just... evil. Stiles really wants to protest, but then it occurs to him that he has no fucking right to say anything about that. Because Derek should be calling the shots here, and Derek wants to just hold hands without the metronome touch that Stiles had almost synced his breathing with. And then he stops doing that too, and Stiles is… oddly bereft. 

“Not good,” Stiles blurts out, practically pouting. 

“Not good?” Derek repeats, clearing out of Stiles’ personal space. 

Stiles is actually pouting now. “Letting go is not good.” 

Derek lets out a soft sound that almost passes as a chuckle, and Stiles just looks at him, at the way Derek holds himself so tightly even though Stiles feels like he is basically a puddle of goo on his couch right now. He wants Derek to feel just as relaxed - or even half as relaxed as this, or a quarter! He would really, honestly settle for a quarter, because he just wants to see if he can get Derek to stop holding so much tension in his body. Stiles wants to shove at least part of the weight off Derek’s strong shoulders, so that he can breathe. 

Sometimes, Stiles thinks, Derek almost forgets to breathe just so he can hold himself together. 

“Next?” Stiles asks, very aware of that he might be begging. 

That seems to surprise Derek, but he gamely settles on the couch next to Stiles, instead of sitting in the armchair by himself. He doesn’t sit too close to Stiles, there is still plenty of room between the two of them, and Stiles finds himself slowly tilting into Derek’s warmth. He is just so warm and he seems strong and sturdy and capable, and like Stiles can just breathe for a second - and he doesn’t do that too often. He works too hard for that. 

“Is this okay?” Stiles asks, wanting to scoot over, get even closer. 

“Yes.” 

Still, Stiles hesitates because Derek has a habit of saying yes to anything even though he is actually not all that comfortable with it. But Derek was very upset about Stiles not trusting him to handle his own boundaries, and Stiles is really trying not to push too far too quickly. So maybe this can be okay. He can leave it to Derek to initiate any kissing, though. 

So he moves until he’s pressed up against Derek from shoulder to knee, and he ducks underneath the warm arm that Derek is suddenly wrapping around his shoulders. His head is against Derek’s solid chest now, and it’s nice. It’s comforting, it’s safe - even though Derek is basically a complete stranger.

“You’re good at this,” Stiles tells him. “You are surprisingly cuddly and I know we probably won’t have to do much of this, I really appreciate you doing this practice thing with me.” 

Derek mumbles something at him that Stiles doesn’t quite catch, but the vibrations of Derek’s voice are quite soothing, and he finds himself feeling calm and settled for the first time in well… he doesn’t even remember. And it’s so nice that he almost forgets that Derek is here for a reason, and that Stiles is supposed to help Derek, to give him nice things. It isn’t really supposed to be the other way around - Derek doesn’t have a surplus of nice like Stiles does. 

“What was that?” Stiles is basically slurring. 

“You’re tired,” Derek tells him. 

That is pretty much a constant state of being for Stiles these days. He doesn’t get to sleep in much, as he’s working in the bakery pretty much every day. And even when Mason is around, he mostly just spends that time preparing the finances so that he’s not spending stupid amounts of money on an accountant. He didn’t get that business degree for no reason. 

His friends have been on him about hiring someone else so that Stiles can have some actual free time, and yeah, he could technically afford that. But the business hasn’t been open that long and he doesn’t want it to go under because he’s irresponsible about hiring people just because he got too lazy to do it all himself. Because it’s not like he can’t do it - it’s that his friends don’t want him to. Because they don’t realize how much work it is to own and run a business all by himself. He is the sole owner, and he’s drowning in loans because of it. 

Why can’t he pay those off first, before hiring some stranger? 

“I don’t need much sleep,” he murmurs into Derek’s shoulder. 

“Full of shit,” Derek tells him again. “I don’t care if you want to work every day, I really don’t. Work 80 hour weeks if that makes you happy. But you need sleep.”

Is he actually aggressively caring about Stiles right now, while still cuddling him? Is that what is happening here? Because it feels a bit trippy, and like Stiles should be pinching himself to make sure that this is not a particularly vivid dream. It would be a good dream - an excellent dream - which is why Stiles is so suspicious of it. 

“Bossy boyfriend,” Stiles is trying to wake himself up at least a little. 

“I should be leaving,” Derek jumps to exactly the wrong conclusion. 

Which is why Stiles lifts up his head (ugh, it’s so hard, why is that so hard?) just to pout at Derek for even thinking of leaving. A major part of him being comfortable enough to fall asleep is that Derek is warm and surprisingly comfortable and cuddly. If he’s left alone, he’s just going to twist and turn alone in his big bed, and he’s going to worry about making Derek uncomfortable and how he should probably just call the whole thing off while he still can. 

Though it might already be too late for that. Erica knows, after all. 

“Are you pouting?” Derek is incredulous. 

“Yes,” Stiles feels no need to be embarrassed about that. “I’m comfy. Don’t leave. Unless you want to. Because you matter.”

Derek chuckles, and Stiles hopes Derek isn’t laughing at him too much. Like, his complete lack of ego can totally stand it if he does, but he really hopes that making fun of Stiles is not the only thing they have to build this fake relationship on. And the real friendship that is undoubtedly going to follow it if Stiles has his way. And he’s pretty good at that, getting his way. 

“Kiss goodnight?” That is a question, according to Derek. 

And when Stiles thinks about it for longer than half a second, he agrees. That is a question - a very good question, even. One that he will wholeheartedly say yes to when he gets himself into the perfect position for it - because they’re not doing this while Stiles is basically drooling himself to sleep on Derek’s chest. Because that is never going to be a good kiss. 

Stiles really wants it to be good, and he doesn’t want to look too closely at his reasons. 

Should they do it standing up? Or would sitting down garner the best results? How are they likely to be positioned during their Christmas plans? Does it actually matter that much?

“Sounds good,” Stiles finally says and sits up straight. 

He really hopes he didn’t leave any drool marks on Derek’s shirt. That would be embarrassing. 

Someone should probably have a ‘how do you wanna do this’ moment at some point, and Stiles is trying so hard not to crack up over that. But it’s hard, especially because no one is talking and the silence is just getting progressively more awkward. Because now they’re just sitting on Stiles’ couch and staring at each other, both hoping that the other person will have something to say that will make this work somehow. 

And well, that’s probably not fair of Stiles, because Derek is never the kind of person who magically has a solution and then tells him what to do. Okay, maybe that’s not completely fair to Derek when he is helping Stiles with the whole ‘fake boyfriend for the holidays’ thing, but so far Derek just hasn’t been much of a talker. Unlike Stiles. So it probably should be him. 

“Good night, Derek,” he says, and then he slowly leans in. 

Derek doesn’t flinch, so that’s something. That is the reason while Stiles is telegraphing his moves, and why he stops before their lips actually touch. Because Derek should be the one making the actual move here - especially since Stiles is pretty much up for anything at this point, and not just because it’s been so long since he’s been kissed. A large part of it is just Derek, and Stiles’ stupid insatiable curiosity about him. 

“Good night Stiles,” Derek whispers against his lips. 

Stiles shivers, because damn. Boy has moves after all. 

Then, Derek actually moves in for the kill, letting their lips touch once (clearly just for the spark of literal fucking lightning running through Stiles at the first touch) before pulling back just the slightest bit. Stiles chases his mouth, a little desperate already even though the kiss is so very chaste, and Derek lets himself get chased. 

The second kiss is less chaste, and Stiles finds himself wanting to reach for Derek, but not wanting to freak him out with his eagerness. Because he is so very eager, because Derek is actually really good at this. Stiles leans into the gentle hand on his cheek, positioning him perfectly so that Derek can just keep kissing him. 

Shit, if this is the level of PDA Derek is comfortable with, then Stiles is going to fucking die - but he sure as hell will die happy. Because Derek is so good at this, a bit unsure at times (just like Stiles), but everything he is doing is really doing it for Stiles. Really, Stiles is happy to be devoured all intense-like. That brooding, intense quality Derek has about him is definitely translating here - and Stiles would really love to learn how to speak that language. With Derek in particular. Because he doubts this would be even half as good with someone else. 

“Good night,” Derek breathes as he pulls back. 

He’s not even breathing heavy, when Stiles is basically panting. He had no idea that he was that out of shape, but clearly he has something to work on in his off-hours, limited as they may be. 

“Good night,” Stiles is halfway (okay, more than halfway) tempted to lean in again.

“I have to go,” Derek says, before planting another short kiss on Stiles’ lips. 

Ugh, Stiles knows that, but that does not mean that he likes it. This is like the ending of the best first date that he didn’t even know he was on. Seriously, chemistry off the fucking charts, solid cuddling, and Derek isn’t running away screaming yet. Which is about all Stiles can ask for based off some of the previous winners he’s attempted to date. 

“Night,” Stiles sighs as he reluctantly lets go. 

How his hand ended up on Derek’s shoulder, he has no idea. He has no conscious memory of putting it there, though he totally approves of his hand’s initiative. He kind of wants to touch Derek some more, but there’s this ‘Derek has to leave’ thing that gets in the way of that. 

Derek gets up too quickly, leaving Stiles without his warmth as he grabs that gorgeous leather jacket from the chair he’d thrown it on earlier. It looks hotter on him than before, because Derek’s a little more rumpled now (because of Stiles!) and it just makes him look all the more ruggedly handsome. It would be unfair if Stiles wasn’t the one who got to do this to him. 

“Night,” Derek looks back one last time before walking out the door. 

Stiles watches him go. He can’t not watch, and he is already dreading having to get up and walking all the way down the hall to his bedroom. The couch has never felt this warm and safe and comfortable. Guess that’s just the sacrifice he’ll have to make. 

_ Good practice _ , he texts Derek later, when he’s in his comfiest jammies, in his warm bed that feels bigger than it usually does. 

He closes his eyes and falls asleep with a smile on his face. 


	3. It only takes a taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas Eve, and shit is going down. In which Stiles and Derek discuss boundaries, meet Danny, and hang out with the Sheriff.   
> (And yes, the sexual tension keeps building)

No one is ready for Christmas Eve. And when he says no one, he really means neither him nor Derek is ready for a dinner party at the ridiculously fancy Martin home. The twenty-fourth seems to have snuck up on them a bit too quickly, and they’re left scrambling to make everything work out in the way that Stiles (desperately) wants it to. 

Because while Derek still claims that he can be the offensive and rude asshole that Stiles is not paying him to be, Stiles would rather that he be, well… himself. Gruff with a kinder side hidden so very deep underneath the surface that it might be easier to get to the Earth’s core than to crack open Derek’s walls and see the goodness underneath. But Stiles is willing to make the effort, and he is willing to show Derek that he is making the effort - so that Derek gets it through that thick skull of his that someone still thinks he’s worth it. 

Most people have given up on Derek. Everyone but Stiles has given up on Derek, because he did something stupid and deeply, deeply tragic at fifteen years old that got him charged as an adult and marked a felon for the rest of his life. Sure, he ‘only’ got a ten year sentence, and he got out after about eight years (for good behavior), but what was a twenty-three year old with a felony record supposed to do? 

Especially when while Derek was locked up, both his sister and his uncle died. So when he finally got out, he truly was all alone. He never got the chance to make up with Laura, never got the chance to apologize to his uncle Peter. 

It has been roughly five years since Derek got out, and he’s still alone. 

“Hey,” Stiles tries to get Derek’s attention just as they reach the Martin mansion. 

They’re in the Camaro, because it’s flashy enough to make a splash even with the Martins and their associates. Derek’s kept it in perfect shape, and because Stiles remembers when the speeding tickets associated with that car had the name Laura Hale on them, he doesn’t joke or tease about Derek’s obvious attachment to what is supposed to be just a car. 

Also, he gets it. Roscoe used to belong to his Mom. He’s never getting rid of it, even though it’s basically held together by duct tape and sheer luck. Even if it falls out from under him, he’s going to keep it. Even when it no longer works, and not even luck (and duct tape) can put it back together again, he still will not be able to destroy it. Because it’s one of the last pieces of his Mom that is still around, after over a decade of trying to move through the world without her. 

“What.” Still no inflection, but at least Derek responds. 

“What’s your safeword?” Stiles blurts out, and he immediately blanches because holy shit that is not what he means, not really. “I mean that in a non ‘Mr. Grey will see you now’ kind of way, just in a ‘Dear God, get me the hell out of here’ kind of way. If you want to be able to make a quick exit, we can agree on a phrase that you can use and I’ll think of an excuse. I’m a terrible liar, but I will take all the heat. I’ll pretend that we’re sneaking off to bone if that’s what you want.” 

Later he is going to have to fine himself for making a fucking 50 Shades reference - because fuck no. But he was panicking (as usual) and so his mouth ran away with him (as usual) and he said something embarrassing slash stupid (as usual). So all there is to do is hope that he didn’t do too much damage here and that Derek is still willing to talk to him. And maybe takes the sneaking off to bone option because Stiles needs to kiss him again. 

“I’m not here for that,” Derek isn’t even looking at him. 

“For pretending to bone?” Stiles can’t believe he’s saying this again. 

Okay, so maybe he’s hoping that he can make Derek say the word bone and it will be like everything he’s ever dreamed about because while Derek is only about half as… taciturn as Raymond Holt, the comparison would still be fucking hilarious. And also, he just wants to think about pretend-boning Derek, since real boning is absolutely not an option (bummer!). His friends will believe they are boning, though, and he kind of wants to get caught in a couple of linen closets just to support that theory. He’s a very simple guy like that. 

“We’re here for you, not me,” Derek thinks that explains anything. 

“So?” Stiles is stubborn. 

He is not getting out of this car until they have established a way for Derek to be able to make a quick getaway if necessary. He needs to be able to have an escape route - if something Stiles does or says makes him uncomfortable, or if someone is being an asshole to him. Which, considering he knows the kind of guests the Martins invite, is extremely likely. 

Especially since Derek is not wearing a suit, which is kind of a Martin Christmas dinner staple - even Stiles has been forced to put on a tie for this. Pity dinners should not come with ties and three piece suits, but this is Lydia, so of course they do. 

And Stiles is absolutely going to die on the hill of defending Derek’s right to not wear a suit and tie when he is only here to support Stiles. And Lydia will disagree. But he’ll have tried. 

“I don’t care,” Derek is clearly lying. 

“Wrong,” Stiles makes a buzzer sound at Derek, just because it makes Derek’s nose crinkle in that adorable way. “Your feelings matter, and we need a safeword. Mine is… I don’t know, I’ve never needed to use a safeword before. But I’ll have one too.” 

The nose crinkle is actually killing him with its adorableness, and therefore he has to distract himself from that line of thought. Instead he starts running through the possible safewords he could use that would come up in conversation relatively naturally, but still not be something he would use of his own volition. And since his mind is not exactly well-organised (anything but, really), it takes him a while to sort through all of it. 

“Darling,” he says and Derek makes a face at him. “Exactly! Neither of us would say that, but we will if we want to get the hell out of there without having to explain ourselves to the other person. Sound good? I’m all for it.”

Probably because it is his idea, but that’s not the point here. It seems subtle enough to work, even for Derek, who’s not prone to any adorable nicknames. Though Stiles has told him that he’d happily be called babe or baby (though he prefers babe), so maybe Derek will naturally go from there - or he’ll be extremely uncomfortable with the entire thing and Stiles is actually making him miserable. It’s just impossible to tell with him, because he glowers either way. 

“Fine,” Derek is not as enthusiastic as Stiles - but really, who is? 

“Wonderful,” Stiles pastes a ridiculous grin on his face just to fuck with Derek. “Now, I apologize for Jackson’s general… existence. Lydia is a goddess, meaning that she is gorgeous yet terrifying and occasionally mercurial. Her Mom and my Dad used to date, so occasionally it gets a little bit awkward, but… there’s no real emotional minefields to avoid with her.”

That will come tomorrow. When Scott is there. And Allison. And Isaac. And oh boy, those three alone in the same room is enough to worry Stiles. But now that Stiles is bringing Derek, there is a whole lot more damage to be done. And the person who’s mostly at risk here is Derek - and that is basically the last thing that Stiles wants to happen. Nice things - he promised himself that he was going to give Derek nice things. Not an inadvertent conversation where he gets in the midst of whatever the hell kind of emotional threesome is going on between Scallisaac. 

He is not going to tell Derek about that, because what the hell is there to say? It has nothing to do with Scott not being happy with Kira (because he is, ridiculously so), but it has everything to do that Scott and Allison have a history and Scott will never quite be able to let go of that. Not even when he’s happy with Kira, and Isaac and Allison are actually a really good match. Scott is too much of a puppy when it comes to his first love. 

And a little too in love with Isaac, but that’s just Stiles’ perspective. 

Stiles has all of the thoughts about this situation that he is never going to be able to share with anyone, because all of his friends were there for the drama and are therefore way too involved in it already. And also, he really fucking adores Kira and he thinks that Scott should maybe be a bit better about treating her the way she deserves to be treated. Especially after she gifted him with two of the most adorable children in the entire world. 

He takes his uncle Stiles responsibilities seriously. 

“Great,” Derek finally says, probably just to pull Stiles out of his own head. 

“Let’s go in,” Stiles nods, and hopes this won’t go badly. 

Lydia hasn’t actually talked to him after telling him that she was extremely annoyed that she had to find out through Erica that he had a boyfriend now. She ordered him to bring Derek (no mention of what she thought of him choosing Derek) and then promptly went radio silent in the days and weeks leading up to Christmas Eve. 

Jackson even texted him to tell him he fucked up - which for Jackson… it was a lot. 

“I still want you to just be you,” Stiles rushes to reassure Derek when they walk up to the door together. “None of that extra stuff you were talking about in your message. I just want you.” 

Maybe later on he will be tempted to have Derek act like an asshole to Jackson, but that sounds like a five drink Stiles kind of problem. And since they do have the good stuff here, he might actually get there tonight. At least they’ll probably cut him off then, because six drink Stiles is a horny bastard, and he really should not do that to Derek. He didn’t sign up for that. 

“Okay,” is all that Derek says, which is his usual level of loquaciousness. 

Stiles rings the doorbell with a stupidly shaking finger, and it seems that Derek notices, because he grabs a hold of Stiles’ hand right away and does that lovely thumb thing that somehow manages to calm him the fuck down. Stiles suspects magic at this point, but he doesn’t actually want to ask Derek about it, because that would mean actually acknowledging how well it is working for him. And that might make things weird. 

“Ready?” Stiles asks Derek one last time. 

“Stop worrying,” Derek orders in response, frowning just as the door opens. 

It is actually Lydia herself opening the door, instead of one of the many people she has hired to make sure that this dinner is an actual event - one that people will be talking to their families about over the holidays. And that is exactly the point, because it gets Jackson extra clients at his rich people law firm, and it allows Lydia to get her inner high school mean girl out of her system. For some reason most mathematicians don’t care a lot about social status. 

“Stiles,” the grin on Lydia’s face is extremely forced. 

“Hey Lyds,” Stiles always goes for the overly casual response to bring her back down to earth. “I know you’ve been dying to see me, so here I am. And I brought Derek. Derek, babe, this is Lydia. She’s the smartest person I know - on track for another Fields Medal.” 

She won the first one at a ridiculously young age, and Stiles would have been jealous of her if he hadn’t put academia behind him the second he could run back home and open his business - something that Lydia still considers a waste of his gifts. And, ugh. No. Stiles hated being a gifted kid, and Home Ec was the only class that managed to keep his hands occupied enough for him to not cause any trouble. Chemistry was particularly terrible in comparison. 

“That’s very impressive,” Derek tries not to sound like he swallowed a lemon. 

It only half works, but Stiles is still proud of the effort. So he squeezes Derek’s hand a little, and somehow that helps turn the grimace on Derek’s face into more of a genuine smile. Well, when he says smile he means a barely noticeable uptick of the corners of Derek’s mouth - but that’s basically all Stiles needs to be proud of Derek. Because he knows how hard this is. 

Sometimes he really does wonder why Derek puts himself through this for a complete stranger. 

Lydia is less than impressed, though. “Thank you.”

And that does sound like she’s swallowed an entire lemon tree, and it sucks. It pisses Stiles off, because Derek is making a huge effort here and she can barely even acknowledge that. 

But she doesn’t know Derek like Stiles does, and ( _ oh fuck _ ). 

“Thank you for having me,” Derek continues to work so damn hard. 

Whatever can Stiles do to reward him? More baked goods? Derek had seemed to like the lemon square and the muffin, and Stiles hasn’t been able to foist any other treats on him, so he’s clearly way past due. And Derek doesn’t want to be paid for his efforts - which is also something that Stiles has not asked him to elaborate on. 

“So, time to go in?” Stiles is fine being the rude one. “It’s surprisingly cold for California, and I’m lacking my usual layers. My plaid is much warmer than all of this.” 

With that he motions to the ridiculous monkey suit he’s forced to wear every single year. He grew out of his ridiculous(ly awesome) red suit a while ago, because apparently baking give him some really strong arms and shoulders that made that suit want to burst a seam. And now he has something more bland and dull and boring - Lydia went to the store with him, because she didn’t want a repeat of the red suit. 

Sure, Stiles would have come up with something outlandish if he’d been on his own, but at least he would have felt a little more comfortable in it. This suit felt too tight, and it pinched in places none of his clothes pinched, and it restricted his movement. It felt like a straightjacket, no matter how good Lydia (and some other randos) may think it looks. 

“Your plaid is unacceptable,” Lydia acts like the queen she is (at least in this house). 

“I like it,” Derek shrugs and pulls Stiles’ hand along with him a little. “It’s very you.” 

Stiles’ heart grows three sizes that very second. He is mentally dying as he ponders if this might be the personality that fake boyfriend Derek is going to go with. Supportive, kind, considerate - and completely and ridiculous into Stiles. That is a dangerous combination. 

Lydia doesn’t seem to like it all that much, though. She is not happy with Derek’s defense of Stiles’ awesome clothes, because she’s always hoped that whoever Stiles ended up with would be on her side in the War on Plaid. And yeah, not so much getting that from Derek - because Derek is a fake boyfriend who is going to side with Stiles without Stiles even having to ask it of him. Though Derek usually calls him on bullshit, so maybe he actually likes… Nope. 

Nope. Nope. Nope. Stiles is not allowed to do this to himself. 

“Thanks babe,” Stiles grins happily at Derek before he can pull himself back. 

“Come in,” Lydia finally says. 

Probably to put an end to the lovey-dovey behavior at her door - because Lydia wouldn’t dare be so cute with Jackson. Probably because he is genetically incapable of doing so, because he’s actually… Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

Jackson is Derek’s fucking  _ cousin _ . 

They only discovered it when Jackson turned eighteen and his adoptive parents finally let him see his birth records. The name of the mother didn’t ring a lot of bells, but the name under Father was one hell of a surprise for Jackson to deal with - and for Lydia too, since they were together back then (or not? Because there was a lot of on and off going on back then). 

Peter fucking Hale was Jackson’s birth father. So yeah, that truth never made it out into the public - Lydia was terrified that whoever else had been involved in the Hale fire would come after Jackson too, Jackson’s parents were terrified of this ruining their reputation and Jackson… didn’t want to spend all of his time in the long-term care ward of the local hospital. 

Because Peter Hale was a vegetable for most of his life after the fire - until he suddenly woke up, murdered his niece (and several other people) and was killed by poor Parrish when he refused to stand down and let himself get arrested by the young officer. 

“I’m so sorry,” Stiles whispers to Derek as they walk into the house. “I forgot.” 

That is a giant landmine that they are walking into, one that he really should have thought of before they got here. But then again, was he even supposed to tell Derek? Was he even allowed to tell Derek? He hadn’t exactly signed an NDA, but he probably would get his ass sued off if Jackson’s dad found out that he’d told anyone. 

Even if anyone was Jackson’s last blood relative on his father’s side. His mother’s side was… somewhere in Oregon. And according to Jackson they were not worth his time (which could mean just about anything, really). 

“It’s okay,” Derek responds, and fuck that shit. 

“No, it’s not okay,” Stiles stops them both. 

That just makes Lydia look even more angry at him, but he’ll happily be the target of all of her vicious comments for the rest of the year if that helps Derek in any way. He doesn’t want Derek to get blindsided by this stuff. He just… He doesn’t deserve that. 

“I know, Stiles,” Derek still hasn’t let go of his hand. “Don’t worry. I know.” 

But Derek isn’t telling him just what he knows, and it’s impossible that Derek knows what Stiles is trying so hard to tell him. But Lydia’s face is pretty much stone by now and he did promise Derek that he was going to trust his judgment, so maybe he should actually do that now. And if Derek knows something else, if Jackson’s parentage isn’t what he was talking about, Stiles will still be there for him. Stiles can still comfort and support him if necessary. 

So they continue to walk, and Stiles would throw in a little light gallows humor if he wasn’t positive that Lydia would actually murder him if he made a joke right now. 

Instead, they walk into the dining room and all conversation stills as people slowly start to recognize Derek. It starts up when they notice that he’s holding Stiles’ hand - so at least he has the satisfaction of giving people something to talk about tonight other than the boring business stuff they usually insist on discussing. If one more person tries to give him advice about his non-existent investment portfolio, he is going to stab someone with a shrimp fork. 

And the fact that he even knows what a fucking shrimp fork is, is because of long, boring nights like this one. At least with Derek here he’ll have someone to fall back on. Why oh why are his other friends always too busy with their families to attend this fucking party? Or supposed party, because there is not much actual partying going on here. There never is. 

“Stilinski,” Jackson at least acknowledges him this time. 

“Jackson,” Stiles really tries to be the adult here. “Good to see you.” 

Danny Mahealani is sitting next to an empty seat, and Stiles is really hoping that this seat is meant for either him or Derek - because everyone could use a Danny in their lives, and especially at a party like this that is basically filled with boring middle-aged white guys who are often casually racist and/or homophobic. Stiles isn’t usually much of a target for them, but Danny’s been the victim of many a ‘no I didn’t mean you, just people like you’ exception over the course of the past five years or so. 

“Danny,” he ignores everyone else, basically. 

He even lets go of Derek to give Danny a quick hug - the whispers become even louder at that, and he really wishes he could flip someone (or everyone) off. He’s missed Danny - they don’t get to see each other a lot since Danny moved back to Hawaii after high school. It’s either Christmas dinner at the Martins (Martin-Whittemores?) or the occasional surprise visit for other special occasions. It has been for fucking ever, and Stiles is just so glad to have someone else here who is absolutely going to be on his side - if he doesn’t make fun of Jackson too much. 

Seems best friend-hood does translate to that, at least. 

“Hey Stiles,” Danny’s dimples are out in full tonight. “Who’s your date?” 

Does Danny not recognize Derek, or… Well, he’s going to play nice anyway. 

“Derek, meet Danny,” Stiles pulls Derek into the conversation rather easily. “We used to be friends - ish - in high school. We played lacrosse together. Danny, Derek. My boyfriend.” 

It seems like the whispers get less whisper-y by the second. People are now talking at normal volume, and they’re just pretending that Stiles can’t hear them emphasizing Derek’s last name and talking about the fire - like the total fucking assholes they are. 

“Nice to meet you,” Derek actually holds out his hand. 

“You too,” Danny is as charming as ever. “Stiles did not tell me he’d be bringing someone. In fact, Stiles didn’t even tell me he was seeing someone. You missed several Gay Club meetings, Stiles. Now how are we going to push the Gay Agenda?” 

This is just a game they play when the bigots are out in full. And some people actually seem to believe that this is a legit thing - and Stiles loves it so fucking much. He is not sure how Derek is going to respond to it, but since they’re acting anyway, he’s sure Derek will take it reasonably well - though he doubts that Derek is going to play along with this. 

Because Derek just looks baffled, looking back and forth between Stiles and Danny like they’re a duo of aliens who just dropped into the middle of this party. And, well, fuck. Is Derek even attracted to guys? And does it matter? 

“Pan Club never has meetings,” Derek finally says, and Stiles gapes at him. 

“You didn’t have to,” Stiles starts, because he can’t believe Derek just outed himself just to go along with their stupid running joke. “You’re too good for me.” 

And right now, he actually firmly believes that. Because sure, since he came with Stiles all of these people are going to believe that they’re both gay - these people cannot comprehend any other sexual identities that include attraction to someone of the same sex - but that doesn’t mean that Derek owes anyone any details about just how he identifies. And he does it anyway, letting himself be vulnerable in front of a bunch of bigoted assholes just to bond with Stiles and Danny. And Stiles just… falls a little bit in love with him in that moment. 

“You’ve got that the wrong way around,” Derek argues, pulling Stiles’ chair back for him. 

This position leaves Derek between Stiles and Danny, and Stiles completely approves of it - if Derek had attempted to seat Stiles in the middle seat, Stiles would not have accepted. There is no way that he is leaving any of these idiots a way to contact Derek without having to go through Stiles first. Because only nice things get to make their way to Derek. 

“You two are disgustingly cute,” Danny chimes in. “I’m happy for you, now please stop rubbing it in for those of us who are missing their significant other this holiday season.” 

Right, was Danny still with that same guy he was going out with over the summer? Stiles remembered Danny talking about dating a twin over the Fourth of July, but he cannot remember the damn name. Which probably makes him a terrible friend. 

“Do you miss them very much?” Surprisingly that question comes from Derek. 

Just as Danny is prepared to answer, a shadow falls over them - both literally and figuratively - as Jackson joins their trio. Stiles knows too much, and Derek does too, and clearly Danny has no idea about just what the connection is between Derek and Jackson. Not because he doesn’t know that Jackson is adopted (because Jackson’s angst about that is known to the entirety of Beacon Hills), but the Hale connection never made it to Danny. Jackson hasn’t even told his best friend about his birth family - Stiles only knows because he’s stupidly curious and he happened to overhear this one conversation between Jackson and Lydia. 

“Hey Jacks,” Danny grins. “You’re looking very dapper.”

Lydia probably made him wear his stupidly sleek suit - because that’s just her dress code for the event. He looks a little unhappy, but Stiles doubts that’s because of the tie and the whole get-up - Jackson just makes that face whenever he is forced to interact with Stiles, and now he’s forced to deal with a bonus Derek as well. Surely this will be bad. 

Why is he not allowed to give Derek nice things only? Why won’t life let him do that? 

To be a contrary asshole, he decides that he’s going to make Jackson uncomfortable until he leaves - and then Stiles can give Derek nice things. He can talk to him all night and maybe cuddle a little and show Derek that there are some people left who care about him. 

He looks pointedly at Derek. “Babe?”

“Yeah?” Derek turns to him, resting murderface completely faded from his face. 

“Can I?” Stiles asks, and hopes Derek gets the message.

Apparently he does. “Come here, you.” 

There is a smile on his face, on both their faces actually. Stiles is pretending Jackson isn’t even there as he scoots his chair closer to Derek’s, until they’re pushed together. He would love to just crawl on top of Derek and hide in his lap and not have to deal with all of this - but that’s a selfish wish that he’s not going to indulge in. Right now he wants to protect Derek, and yeah, he kind of wants to hold Derek’s hand while he gets right on that. 

Derek pulls him in even closer, until Stiles’ head is practically resting on his shoulder as they sit side by side and wait for judgment. Surely Jackson will have a lot to say. 

“Derek Hale?” Jackson starts, suddenly cutting off his conversation with Danny. “Really, Stilinski? That’s the first boyfriend you’ve brought along to our house in years? Derek Hale?” 

Danny apparently is just now making the connection, which is surprising. But then again, Danny has been spending most of the time since Derek got out of jail back in Hawaii, studying and spending time with his family and possibly taking over the world with his amazing hacker skills. 

“I know right?” Stiles smiles up at Jackson guilelessly. “Isn’t he great?” 

Because he is. Because he really fucking is, and Stiles will defend him for the rest of his life if he has to. Because he’s decided that he really likes Derek, and that Derek needs to be in Stiles’ life from now on - if he wants to be. He wants to see Derek get more comfortable with him, wants him to learn just how to joke with Stiles over the register, wants to find out all the little things that help improve Derek’s day, so that he can do all of them. Stiles wants Derek to have all of the happiness he’s been missing out on in the last thirteen years. 

“For fuck’s sake, Stiles,” Jackson isn’t down to play along here. 

“No,” Stiles blindly grabs for Derek’s hand, for support. “You don’t get to judge me. You in particular don’t get to be an asshole about this. You have no fucking idea about who he actually is - you listen to rumors and draw your own conclusions.” 

And it’s not fucking fair to Derek. No one in this town has been fair to Derek, and sometimes Stiles wonders why Derek didn’t just leave when he got out. Why he didn’t go to New York or another random big city, and just let himself get swallowed by the crowd, just let him be another strong man done dirty by life, just looking for a second chance. Because there was no fucking way that any of these people were going to give him one. 

Maybe to make things better for Derek, he had to get him away from this place. 

“Thank you for having me,” Derek is ridiculously polite. “If you’d rather I go…” 

If Derek is going, Stiles is leaving with him, and Lydia can freeze him out for a couple of weeks before she realizes that her husband is the one who screwed up here, making a scene in front of all of these people just because he doesn’t like Stiles’ date. 

“You know what,” Stiles interrupts whatever awful thing Jackson is going to say. “We’ll go. I think we have better places to be. Danny, nice seeing you, man. Let’s hang out some time.” 

He tips a metaphorical hat to all of the gossips listening in, one hand still in Derek’s as they get up together and quietly head towards the exit. And no one stops them, because they have apparently gotten what they came for: the Drama. No one actually cares now that they are out of sight, and out of earshot - the gossip can really begin now, because that Stilinski boy really doesn’t need that Hale boy being such a bad influence on him. And what would Claudia think if she saw this, saw what her baby boy had become. 

They like to invoke his mother when they don’t think Stiles can hear them. 

“Stiles, what are you doing?” Derek asks as Stiles practically drags him towards the door. 

“Come on, darling,” Stiles uses the safeword purposefully. “We have places to be.” 

Not that he knows what these places will be yet, but his mind is hard at work at putting together the first semblance of a plan. Scott’s with his family, and Stiles wouldn’t dare interrupt, and same goes for Erica and Boyd. And he is not in the mood to hang out with Allison and Isaac, because all he wants right now is to be around people who are going to treat Derek like an actual person, and not just as a caricature of the villain corrupting the Sheriff’s boy. 

Which… His dad. He is sure his Dad would appreciate getting some actual food while he is working - pretty much the only one actually at the station on Christmas Eve. And since he yanked Derek away from the Martin house before they actually got to eat something, Stiles needs some food, so… A replacement dinner seems doable, if he can get his food order in at the local diner before his Dad makes his own order. 

At least if Stiles is doing the ordering, there will be some vegetables involved. 

“We’re having dinner with my Dad instead,” Stiles tells Derek as the front door closes behind them. “He isn’t as judgmental as these people, and I’m sure he’d like to see you again. If that’s okay with you. I know Jackson is a lot, and if you just want to go home…” 

Stiles doesn’t want him to go home, because that would mean that Derek is going to spend Christmas Eve all by himself, in his shitty apartment, undoubtedly thinking of the holidays he used to have back when his family was still around. And he’d feel guilty and sad and just get even more murderface-y and angry at the world. 

“I’ll go,” is all that Derek says. 

“Thank you,” Stiles is trying to really show Derek how genuine his appreciation is. “I know this just now was a shitshow, and I really appreciate you giving me a second chance. And my Dad is working, so it won’t be a very long dinner, but I don’t like the idea of him ordering a heart attack on a plate as he just sits behind his desk, alone in the office all night.” 

Sure, there are a few other people on call just in case something comes up, but Stiles’ Dad is the one manning the phones and writing the reports and keeping an eye on the town. It is a long and usually relatively slow and boring shift, and… it would be better if he wasn’t alone with the reminders of Christmases past. When the family was complete. 

“Sounds smart,” Derek nods and gets into the Camaro. 

Fuck, that is still such a beautiful car. It practically purrs as they peel away from the Martin mansion, and Stiles feels the thrum of the engine in his bones. Derek handles the car’s power easily, gracefully maneuvering through the empty streets of Beacon Hills as Stiles calls in an order at the diner he knows stays open on Christmas Eve. 

“What do you want?” Stiles turns to Derek real quickly. 

“Double of whatever you’re having,” Derek doesn’t look at him. “I’m starving.” 

Huh, so maybe Derek isn’t as worried about calories as Stiles thought he was - especially not if he thinks it’s normal to eat twice as much as Stiles does. And Stiles may have grown out of his teenage eating habits, but not by a lot. 

The bored waitress on the phone tells him the order will be ready in about fifteen minutes, so they have plenty of time to get to the diner. It’s only a ten minute drive, and Derek seems disinclined to speed up, even though the streets are just… empty. It sadly drives home the point that the rest of the town is spending time indoors, where it’s warm and everyone is together with their families. It stings a little when Stiles thinks of Polish Christmas songs and his Mom’s ridiculous Christmas sweater that she only wore because it made him laugh. 

Surely Derek has similar memories, but Stiles doesn’t dare to ask him about it. That would be a bridge too far, and he’s already pushed Derek so much tonight. 

“It’s nice that you’re spending tonight with your Dad.” 

Derek is trying so hard, and Stiles feels his heart pound in his chest, because this guy, he could really fall for a guy like this. And it’s stupid, he knows it is, because here he is doing the Lydia thing all over again, even though he really should know better by now. He can’t put Derek on a pedestal, and idealize him, and think that he is the solution to everything that’s going less than perfectly in Stiles’ life. He can’t make more five or ten or fifteen year plans. 

No matter how much he may want to. 

“He’s all I have,” Stiles is painfully honest. “He’s my only family. My Babcia… She’s so far away, and Mom’s family doesn’t speak to us anymore. I don’t know why, and I don’t feel like finding out, you know? Because they bailed on us when she passed. They didn’t check in on this mess of a family. They didn’t see that Dad crawled into a bottle.”

It is sensitive information, stuff that the police force had covered up. The people of Beacon Hills were not supposed to know just how badly the Sheriff was grieving, and just how badly he was failing his kid. He’d more than made up for it since, he’d given Stiles everything he could - but the one thing Stiles wanted more than anything wasn’t something he could give. It was something he knew he wouldn’t have to explain to Derek. He just knew Derek understood. 

And he knew that Derek would never tell anyone. Not just because he has no one to tell. 

“You don’t owe me this, Stiles,” Derek stops him. 

“I know,” Stiles looks outside the window, because talking about this time still hurts. “I just… I think I need to talk about it for a bit, and… You’re a good listener.” 

He physically cannot talk to his father about this. It’s the one sore spot, the one topic that they talk circles around, and will forever. The gaping hole where Claudia Gajos used to be will never close up, and that never gets any easier to talk about. So they just don’t, even though Stiles sometimes just wants to scream at the world. Because he still wants her back. 

“Laura used to say that too,” Derek’s breathing is a bit shaky. 

Oh, fuck. Fucking hell,  _ Derek. _

“She loved Christmas,” Derek continues. “Obnoxiously so. The second Thanksgiving was over, she’d drag the boxes of decorations down from the attic. And she only waited that long because Mom wouldn’t let her do it any sooner than that.” 

Stiles smiles tremulously, picturing a young brunette bouncing around the old Hale house with boxes upon boxes or ornaments. The Hale family used to have a couple of large trees - one of them on the porch. Stiles used to go into the Preserve with his mom just to see the lights. 

“Mom used to pick out the best trees,” Stiles whispers into the darkness of the car. “The one time Dad had to pick it up, it started losing all the needles way too quickly and it just looked like a mess. On her lucid days, Mom would tease him about it. She always told me that I was going to inherit her superior Christmas tree shopping skills.” 

He doesn’t know if he actually has, because he hasn’t been able to pick out a tree. They haven’t had a tree in the house since his Mom passed, and even though he has a place of his own now, it just seems wrong to have a tree there. It is never going to be as beautiful as it was when his Mom did it, stringing the lights haphazardly in a way that shouldn’t have made sense, but always did. The tree always ended up looking like something out of a catalogue. 

“Did you?” Derek asks. 

“I don’t know.” 

They’ve long since arrived at the diner, and the engine’s turned off, so they’re just sitting in a dark car, waiting to pluck up the courage to go inside. Stiles knows he’s the only one who should be moving, but he wants to stay inside this safe little bubble where he can talk about his Mom without his chest cracking open. 

“I’ll go get dinner,” Stiles sighs, already dreading it. 

The waitress had sounded bored on the phone, but he’d recognized her voice. He’d explained to her that he was ordering for his Dad too, and that under no circumstance were they allowed to deliver anything to the Sheriff’s station that night. Stiles had it handled, he’d told her, and the woman had told him what a good boy he was, what a good son. 

He didn’t want to go into the building and see that pitying look on her face. Because he was that poor Stilinski kid, with the Mom who died and the Dad who worked. 

“What do I owe you?” Derek asks, and Stiles rolls his eyes at him. 

“Free meal, remember?” Stiles responds. “That was part of the deal, and since I’m not allowed to pay you for your services, except maybe in baked goods and free coffee… Well…” 

Derek grumbles about that, because of course he does. He doesn’t like being treated, and he doesn’t appear to be changing his mind about that any time soon, which is kind of frustrating to Stiles, because he still suffers from the compulsive need to make Derek happy. And he still does not want to examine his motives for it, because that will only lead to uncomfortable truths that Stiles is not ready to face. And probably won’t be for a while. 

“Fine,” Derek huffs. “Go get the food.” 

So he follows orders, just this once, reluctantly leaving the safety of the Camaro behind. He can handle a few minutes of this as long as there’s delicious food in his future. 

* * *

The Sheriff does not do too well at hiding his surprise at Derek’s appearance, but Stiles still appreciates the effort. It’s just that his eyes are wide and it takes him just a little too long to look away from the way Stiles and Derek are holding hands. 

All of this even though Stiles had already told the Sheriff about this. He tells his Dad pretty much anything, and now that he is old enough, it is easier to even tell him about all the scheming and the stuff he probably would have gotten grounded for back in the day. So his Dad knows all about the fake dating thing he’s got going on, and that Stiles is running around Beacon Hills with Derek Hale for the next couple of days. 

He’d gotten an understanding look at his defense of Derek, but his Dad just doesn’t see the need of getting a fake boyfriend for the holidays, just so his friends will leave him alone about his single status for a little while. Probably because he’s never had to deal with all of this bullshit, not like Stiles has. 

“Why aren’t you boys at dinner?” Dad asks instead. 

“Jackson continues to be an asshole,” Stiles is quick with the response. “And I wasn’t feeling it - being in a room full of bigoted rich people isn’t my thing, not really. I’d rather spend the holidays with my Dad, you know? And Derek was kind enough to accompany me.” 

Though, he is starting to wonder if this is actually kindness on Derek’s end. Because yes, Derek is a lot more kind than most people know, and a lot more selfless than anyone knows, really. But it is not all that, it can’t be all that. There is selfless and then there is martyring yourself so that someone else can be happy, and well… Stiles is certainly starting to suspect that this is a thing that Derek is doing. There is an aura of guilt around him, and Stiles isn’t usually an aura person. 

“That boy,” the Sheriff mutters under his breath. 

“Yeah, still don’t know what Lydia sees in him,” Stiles is always happy to bag on Jackson. “She could do better. And for once I don’t mean me. She could get… I don’t know… Parrish? Yeah, that would be good. Parrish is a good guy, he’d be good for her.” 

Stiles has totally had a crush on Jordan Parrish at some point, and it was kind of pathetic and embarrassing, but Jordan’s never once made fun of him for it. Even though he was probably really obvious - because when is Stiles not stupidly obvious about the person he’s into? It’s a character flaw that he is trying to work on, but well, he hasn’t been all that interested in anyone for a while now. 

Point is, Jordan Parrish is a solid choice for anyone, and he stands by it. Even though he wishes this was something that his Dad didn’t know about. Because the embarrassment is real. 

“Don’t pimp out my deputies, Stiles,” his Dad makes it sound like he does this all the time. 

Derek is laughing at him now, and Stiles suddenly figures out what his Dad is doing - and he is so proud of his machinations. If they can make fun of Stiles together, Derek will feel like the Sheriff is on his side - and boy, does Derek Hale need to have more people on his side. It’s getting a little lonely with it just being Stiles - and maybe Danny, after that disastrous attempt at dinner earlier. 

And the Sheriff, because he’s always been on Derek’s side. Derek just needs to figure that out. 

“I’m not getting paid or anything,” Stiles pretends to be annoyed. 

“At least it’s not you falling all over yourself in front of him anymore,” Dad just has to bring that up in front of Derek, which, ugh. 

Yes, he has done many embarrassing things in the pursuit of love (or sex), but most of that stuff had happened far away from his dad and therefore will not be discussed at this moment. And in front of Derek - because honestly he didn’t sign up for getting a crash course in Stiles’ crush and relationship history. He didn’t sign up for any of this, probably. Not for how bad it is right now. 

“We don’t talk about that,” Stiles isn’t actually angry about it, but it does feel weird. “I was a stupid teenager with a crush, trying to navigate bisexuality.” 

And that is probably not something that they need to discuss extensively, not with his Dad and Derek and Stiles all together, eating junk food in an empty Sheriff’s station late at night on Christmas Eve. Really, the setting is too weird for that, and so is the company. 

“We’ve all had weird crushes,” Dad grins at him over his food. “I’m just lucky that I found your mom early enough not to have too many of them. We can’t all be that lucky.” 

It still stings, the mention of her. It’s stupid, but it always will, even when he is sharing stories that are happy (or at least they were before she died). There is always going to be that hole in his life where she used to be, and it must be so much worse for Derek, and no. He’s not going there again. Because it’s Christmas. And Santa’s only going to bring nice things this year. 

“Is he forcing you to go to the McCalls tomorrow?” Dad turns to Derek. 

“Yeah,” Derek isn’t particularly verbose. 

And well, Stiles isn’t forcing him into anything, right? Derek has agreed to all of this, and Stiles has given him several outs so far, and somehow Derek is still here with him right now. So it’s not so much an agreement to that as it is to Derek visiting the McCalls with him, which is certainly true. And his Dad certainly has a lot of opinions to share about that visit. 

“Dad’s jealous,” Stiles explains. “He wishes he could spend more time in my fabulous company.” 

Patently untrue, really. Or, well, it is kind of true, but it is not the thing that they actually talk about, because even in the Stilinski household toxic masculinity is still a thing. It’s stupid, but somehow it’s still weird to talk to his Dad without joking, without teasing, without exaggerating something in order to cover just how much they care about each other. And right now, admitting that they do care would just be rubbing Derek’s nose in the fact that he doesn’t have this. 

“I mostly miss the food,” the Sheriff tells Derek, sotto voce. 

“I heard that,” Stiles hears everything. “And you’re not allowed leftovers, not after the cheat meal you’re currently having. You know what the doctor said.” 

He worries. He worries a lot, because he’s only got one family member left, and there is no way he is losing him too, and - he is too maudlin, too dark-minded for the festive season. So he blinks away the tears in his eyes and smiles. 

It probably makes him look like a deranged clown. 

“You’re a good kid,” Dad tells him, because he knows. “Derek, look after this one for me. You can be my little spy. I know Stiles has many of those, because all of my deputies are somehow not allowed to bring me food that Stiles hasn’t personally approved. So it’s about revenge, son. Can you do that?” 

Stiles is kind of pissed and completely impressed, because of course his Dad knows about the spies and he’s just been waiting for the right opportunity to strike. And to bring Derek into it, that is just a masterstroke of genius, and Stiles kind of wants to applaud him. He would, if he wasn’t sure that it would confuse and/or alienate Derek. 

And he never wants to do that. 

“Yes,” Derek says. 

“You’re a good kid too, Derek,” the Sheriff pointedly looks anywhere but at him. 

Maybe that is taking it a bit far for Derek, because he visibly puts the walls back up, even though he’d barely let a brick or two crumble in front of the Sheriff. Stiles tries really hard not to be too disappointed about it. Because nice things. Derek deserves nice things. 

“He’s not a kid, Dad,” Stiles points out the obvious, trying to change the topic. “My boyfriend is all man, thank you very much. And okay, I just heard how that sounded. I take it back.” 

That makes his Dad cringe, and well, that’s just a bonus. Because Derek is rolling his eyes at him, and it’s such a reprieve. It means that Derek isn’t withdrawing completely, and that he’s willing to show his opinions, at least. It means he feels safe enough for that here. 

And that’s… That’s an excellent sign of progress. 


	4. You matter to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas Day - an escape to the bathroom is necessary. Scott doesn't have a linnen closet.   
> Also, Jackson isn't a complete asshole.

Stiles is, at least, well-rested when he finally gets out of bed on Christmas Day. It’s already the afternoon, and he stretches like a cat when a small patch of sunlight hits him right in the eye. It is looking to be a beautiful December day, and Stiles doesn’t have to move for at least another hour. 

But he does, because he remembers sleepily making his way into his apartment in the middle of the night, after spending a solid part of his Dad’s night shift playing card games and talking with him and Derek. And he remembers that he made Derek stay, that he asked him to stick around, and not go back to the other side of town, deep into the Preserve, where Derek supposedly lived (and Stiles says supposedly because he’s never been there and he’s really fucking curious about what Derek’s place looks like). He remembers making up the couch for Derek, and doing a completely terrible job at it. He remembers the way Derek looked at him, the way the Brows of Sass made fun of him before Derek stripped the couch and redid it to his exacting standards. 

He wonders if Derek is still there. 

“Derek?” Stiles has to ask, even though he doesn’t want to leave his bed. 

Footsteps come closer, and then there’s a knock on his bedroom door. Stiles melts a little, because Derek is knocking, even though Stiles has called for him specifically. Derek is trying to be kind, and any kindness from Derek should be appreciated. He’s gotten so little in return. 

“Come in,” he cheerfully groans. 

Because while Stiles may be awake, his voice certainly isn’t. It’s lower, more croaky, and kind of a little embarrassing. Not that Derek cares about that. 

“Good morning,” Derek rumbles at him when he opens the door. 

“Morning,” he grins. “Or, afternoon. Did you sleep well?” 

Oh wow, this is a problem. Derek is still all sleep-rumpled and soft, wearing a borrowed pair of sweatpants and an old sleep shirt Stiles had in the back of a drawer somewhere. It makes Stiles want to reach out and pull Derek into bed with him. Just to cuddle. He looks cuddly this way. 

“I did,” is all that Derek says to that. 

“Good,” Stiles sits up, letting the blankets drop down to his waist. “Did you have breakfast yet? And/or brunch? Or lunch? Please tell me you haven’t just been waiting for me to wake up!” 

It is a little cold in his bedroom without the blankets, especially since he never wears a shirt to bed. But he’s catching a bit of the sun and he’s comfortable, and he hopes Derek is too. Sure, he could be more comfortable, but that would involve Derek getting in bed with him and a metric shit-ton of cuddling. And Stiles is smart enough to know that is not going to happen. 

“I’m fine,” Derek may or may not be lying. 

But he’s not looking Stiles in the eyes at all - which is weird, but like, regular Derek weird - so it’s a little impossible to tell if he’s telling the truth or not. 

“Have you eaten yet?” Stiles absentmindedly scratches his belly, thinking of what leftovers he has in the fridge that Derek could have eaten. “Because I can make you something. I can make you all the somethings. It’s how I show I care.” 

Whoops, he doesn’t mean to reveal that much, especially not after he’s been forcing treats onto Derek basically since they met. Re-met? Met again? Something like that. Either way, he’s been embarrassingly blatant about caring for Derek, and Stiles would not blame him for feeling more than a little awkward about it. Shit, should he dial it back?

He just wants Derek to have nice things. He wants Derek to have the happiness that he deserves, and he’s going to do all he can to make that happen and holy fucking shit Stiles is falling in love with him. Because of course he is. Because that’s how he rolls, falling hard and fast and so very fucking deep. From zero to hundred too quickly, like he is about everything, from his business to his college career to his friendships to his relationships. 

All or nothing. That’s Stiles. And now that the switch has flipped to all, there’s no helping it. 

Derek has been silent for all of this time - while Stiles completely blew his own mind - and that just will not do. “Do you want something to eat?” 

“Sure,” Derek is hesitant, voice gruff. 

“Great,” Stiles basically jumps out of bed, trying to override the awkwardness by being overly happy. “I always have a million ingredients lying around, and I’m always in need of someone to taste test some of my new creations. Best get those taste buds ready.” 

And then he runs towards his kitchen because well, feelings. 

It takes him almost five minutes to realize that he’s been cooking shirtless, and by then it’s way too late to do something about it without getting all awkward about it. So he pushes through, pretends it’s something he does all the time. It’s really not, because Stiles gets messy when he cooks or bakes, and with hot ingredients that’s just a recipe for disaster. 

Surprisingly - at least to most people who knew him as a kid - Stiles plus cooking or baking doesn’t usually equal disaster these days. 

Of course, the doorbell rings when he’s in the middle of cooking. And Derek hasn’t signed up for door duty, so he turns off the stove and sighs unhappily. A Christmas visitor is never a good thing - it’s probably nothing to do with his Dad this time, but he worries regardless. 

“I’m sorry,” Jackson starts talking as soon as he opens the door. 

And he was right to worry - just not about his Dad. About Derek, about himself, about Jackson - because he’s a fucking idiot. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Stiles is not down to forgive him that easily. 

“I was an asshole last night,” Jackson isn’t looking at him, but it doesn’t look like he’s reading from a note either, so that’s progress. 

Yes, that has happened many a time before, and Stiles has mocked him mercilessly for it, because that is how he rolls. 

“Did Lydia put you up to this?”

“A little,” Jackson looks up, jaw clenched. “But mostly it was Danny. He was… pissed when I told him why I was so weird. I’ve been a shit friend. And a shittier cousin. Is he here?” 

As usual, Danny is a gift, and Jackson basically doesn’t deserve him. But at least he’s aware of that now. And yeah, Jackson isn’t usually a complete tool - mostly because he had his tonsils taken out as a kid, so he’s not a complete anything - so it’s good to see the side of Jackson that Stiles can almost call a friend. Almost. Maybe. A little. On his best days. 

But now Stiles has a Derek to protect, even from a friend. 

“If you hurt him,” Stiles starts, unsure how to finish that threat. 

“He’s lucky to have you, even though you’re an idiot,” Jackson tells him. 

Look who’s talking - that is what Stiles is supposed to say to that. He usually does, because his friendship with Jackson is built on mutual antagonizing and sniping. It works for them, usually, except for when either one of them fucks up. It’s Jackson’s turn this time. 

“Be good,” Stiles warns before he finally steps aside. “Derek, you have a visitor. Feel free to kick him out whenever you want to. I’m going to make some more food.” 

Pie. He could make pie. He has a whole bunch of ideas, and Scott is always happy to eat truly astonishing amounts of baked goods. He calls it taste-testing, but Stiles usually just calls it being a bottomless pit. And with Kira and the kids, with Melissa, with Allison and Isaac and maybe Allison’s dad (that he has to keep away from Derek at all costs for some reason), and possibly Kira’s parents if they’re not in Japan this year…. Well, he’d best get started and make about half a dozen of pies. 

He wonders what Derek’s favorite is. It feels like that’s something he should know. 

“Derek,” he can overhear some of the conversation from the kitchen. 

“Jackson,” is the response. 

Stiles is trying not to laugh, because he can definitely imagine the expression on Derek’s face for that bit, and it is probably a hoot. The sass is definitely coming out, and Stiles is really not sure if Jackson is prepared - though it should be innate. Because it’s in their genes. 

Which is… still a lot to consider. 

“I’m sorry,” Jackson sighs, sounding like this is the hardest thing he’s ever done, when Stiles knows better than that. “I shouldn’t have treated you that way. You’re family, even though that’s not… Even though he was a psychotic monster at the end, he’s still my father. Or, he was. It’s a secret, and I’m not sure I can… I can’t tell people. I know that’s selfish of me, but I can’t. I’m sorry for that too.” 

It’s more than he’s heard Jackson say in a while, and less smarmy than he’s heard him speak to anyone other than Lydia or Danny. He’s really making an effort, and Stiles has to admit that he’s surprised to hear it. His expectations of Jackson have never been all that high, and it sucks to have to adjust them. Stiles can’t handle the idea of Jackson Whittemore, actual good guy. 

He just can’t. 

“You look like him,” Derek says, soft, almost too softly for Stiles to hear. 

Things are quiet, too quiet, after that, and Stiles almost wants to check if no one has been murdered. Because that would be against the whole nice things plan - and completely ruin the spirit of Christmas and all that jazz. 

Also, it would be a bitch to clean up, and he’s already made a ridiculous mess in the kitchen that he somehow has to deal with before heading to Scott’s later. 

“He was better before,” Stiles finally hears Derek after several minutes of fraught silence. “Uncle Peter was always an asshole. He teased us mercilessly and made fun of my ears and Laura’s height. And he never had a girlfriend for longer than five seconds, or a boyfriend for longer than five minutes. But he snuck us into movies Mom wouldn’t let us see, and he taught me how to shave. He offered to teach Laura too and she kicked him in the shin so hard he howled.” 

Stiles wants to laugh, because Laura Hale is his hero and he wants to hear every story Derek has about her. He wants to know what kind of person she was and how she impacted Derek and how she made the world her bitch. He wants to know what her smile looked like, because from what he remembered from his brief glimpses of Laura after… she didn’t smile much. She didn’t have a reason to. 

But he bets it was beautiful. 

“I wish I could have met him before,” Jackson says. 

“You would have hated him,” Stiles isn’t sure if it’s a warning or a joke. “He would not have made a great dad. But who knows, he might have proved us all wrong.” 

Because it sounds like things might be getting too sad, Stiles none too accidentally lets a pie dish clatter to the floor (not one of his fancy ones, because he’s smarter than that) and curses loudly to make sure the boys hear it. 

And then he waits. 

“Stilinski you are a terror,” Jackson is not running into the kitchen. 

He is power walking though, as if he actually cares. Which he maybe kind of does - suck on that, Jackson. 

Not that he beat Derek there, though. Derek is in the kitchen within seconds of Stiles’ cursing, barely even breathing hard as he takes in the mess. And then he almost smiles, for just a second, before the resting murder face makes its triumphant return. 

“Clumsiness happens to us mere mortals sometimes,” Stiles rolls his eyes and picks up the dish. “You Greek Gods wouldn’t know a thing about that, I’m sure.” 

Sure, Jackson is very pretty, like one of the Gods. But he’s also got about the same level of problem solving ability, which is tragic and why Lydia is literally a godsend. How Jackson ever functioned without her? Well, Danny, probably. 

“Did something explode?” Derek finally asks. 

Which, rude. Just because Stiles waits until the pies are in the oven to get the mess back to manageable levels, doesn’t mean that he doesn’t have this down to a science. Okay, shit gets messy at times, but that’s just what baking’s like. 

“Not yet,” Stiles huffs. “But I’ll blow your mind later when you taste this.” 

At least, that’s what he’s hoping. Because Derek ate the lemon square, and the muffin, and so far he’s eaten just about everything Stiles has put in front of him, but he just really wants to find Derek’s absolute favorite. Because nice things, that’s why. It has nothing to do with the stupid fantasy involving Derek thanking him under the mistletoe. Not at all. No sir. 

“That’s not all you’re blowing,” Jackson mutters under his breath. 

Right, Jackson thinks they’re dating. 

Wait, did Derek hear that? His ears are a bit red.

* * *

Stiles thanks the Lord and whatever (Greek or Roman or other) deities that Derek is ridiculously strong and capable of carrying most of the pies all by himself. Because his clumsy ass is definitely not pulling his own weight - and that’s a very good thing. 

More than one holiday pie has gotten ruined because he was overambitious about carrying several of them in one go. That’s one part of this bakery business he does not have down. And probably never will, because well, he’s inherited the legendary Gajos clumsiness and that is not something one simply gets over. Babcia used to tell him tales about dziadek’s antics, and even though the stories have faded with age (because well, it’s been at least a decade since they talked), he knows enough to say that this is just the way things are. 

And he’s lucky to have a strong assistant with ridiculous muscles that Stiles just wants to lick all over. And he’s an idiot with a stupid crush he’s going to push down any minute now. 

Nice things only. He’s trying to make things better for Derek here. 

“Six, Stiles?” Scotty yells out as soon as he sees the spoils of a very frantic afternoon of baking. 

“Says the guy who eats a whole one by himself every year,” Stiles very pointedly tries to push his buddy aside. “You are a ridiculous person and I live to indulge you, dude.” 

Almost twenty years of friendship will do that. Seriously, Stiles has very little important memories that don’t involve Scott somehow, and it’s kind of the best thing. Because even when the world goes to shit, he’ll have Scott. There’s never been anything they haven’t been able to bounce back from - not even Stiles buying a fake felon boyfriend off the internet, right? 

Fingers crossed. 

“You’re the best,” Scott wholeheartedly believes this. “Hi, you must be Derek. I’m Scott.” 

Scott actually holds out his hand like a grown-up (ugh, Stiles still can’t believe that they’re actually grown-ups now), like he hasn’t heard a whole bunch of stories about just what Derek has done to his own family. He doesn’t look worried, doesn’t look scared - and Scott is basically a puppy, so he’s terrible at lying. Honestly, usually Kira is the terrifying badass in the family. 

“Stiles, your boyfriend is really cute,” Kira hollers from the living room. “He has a nice butt. I approve in the shallowest of ways. Come say hi when Scott is done with the shovel talk.” 

Wait, Scott is planning a shovel talk? This is bound to get fucking hilarious. 

“Babe,” Scott pouts. 

“Whoops.” Kira does not sound sorry at all. 

Because she isn’t. Because she’s nice enough to give Derek a five-second warning in a house full of strangers who only know him from town gossip. And also, because she really enjoys teasing Scott, which makes her everything Stiles could want for his buddy. There’s a reason he used to go by Mischief. 

“I’ll practice my surprised face,” Derek’s dry wit comes out again. 

Stiles is delighted. He loves it when Derek gets to be himself, when he feels comfortable enough to be that funny asshole that Stiles is rapidly falling head over heels for. 

“There’s two of them,” Scott grins, looking back and forth between Derek and Stiles. “You’re a good guy, Derek. I know Stiles likes assholes - ugh, Stiles, no, don’t wiggle your eyebrows at me like that. Just, be good to him. And drag him away from a stove from time to time. What else am I supposed to say?” 

Did Scotty actually research shovel talks? Is that what is happening here? Well, Stiles would not be surprised about it. Because Scott is, as he’s mentioned before, a total puppy. He’s the least effective at giving the shovel talk. Allison? She could do it - with very specific bow-related threats. Even Isaac is more effective than Scott. And that’s saying something. 

“Threaten him,” Isaac shouts. 

Speak of the devil...

“Thanks, bro,” Scott yells in return. 

A bromance for the ages, truly. Stiles used to get a bit jealous of Isaac, especially during the high school and college years, but Scott’s shown him he’s got nothing to worry about. Sometimes Scott can be a bit of a flake, but when it matters, he has Stiles’ back. 

“What do I say?” Scott is apparently pondering possible threats. 

“You’ll rip my throat out?” Derek actually suggests, like a fucking troll. “With your teeth?” 

That is too specific to be something Derek’s thought of this very minute. Stiles has the feeling it might be a joke, but he’s not in on the punchline. It seems like no one is, really. But at least Derek is grinning slightly, baring his own sharp, white teeth. 

Oh, bunny teeth. So adorable. 

“Yeah, that,” Scott looks briefly worried, and then smiles pleasantly at Derek. “Come in. There’s a bunch of us in the living room. The kids are upstairs with my Mom.” 

Melissa Delgado, a true queen. Stiles both hated her and awkwardly worshipped her at the same time when he was younger. She had the power to keep him from Scott, and definitely used the “No Stiles” punishment more than once or twice, but she was (and still is) a certified badass with or without the hospital scrubs. He’d seen her kick her husband to the metaphorical curb while wearing a fuzzy bathrobe and he’d fallen a little bit in love with her. 

And who could blame him? 

Certainly not his Dad, because if his Dad were ever to permanently give up life as a bachelor, it would be for Melissa. Stiles knows that much. 

“Come on, babe,” Stiles sees that Derek’s trying to figure out the next step here, and he knows he has to step in. “Scott knows how to defend these pies with his life. He knows what I’ll do to him if he starts early. We can chill for a bit.” 

See? Much more effective than Scott’s attempt at the shovel talk. 

He slips his hand into Derek’s, because he knows that if Isaac is already zonked out on the couch, his father-in-law is also present. And Derek needs the best line of defense for that awkward moment. Stiles has gotten quite good at defending Derek. 

“You scare me sometimes,” Scott stores the pies like a good boy. 

“Sometimes?” Derek huffs under his breath. 

Stiles elbows him gently, because that is teasing and he can’t help but respond. It is exactly the kind of banter he likes, and so he’s grinning happily as they make their way into the living room. 

“Scott used shovel talk,” Kira jumps up off the couch with ridiculous grace. “It was not very effective. Hi Stiles. Hi Derek. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Kira. I’m married to that puppy.” 

Some of the many reasons why Kira is the best bro-in-law. The humor, the references. The ignoring of Scott’s huffing about not actually being a puppy.

“Hello Kira,” Derek holds out his hand first. 

Kira shakes it briefly, clearly pleased as punch that Derek made the first move here. She knows just how to put people at ease, an enviable quality that Stiles has not managed to absorb by osmosis, no matter how much he wishes he had. 

“And that moocher on the couch is Isaac,” Stiles continues the introductions. “His fiancee Allison and her dad Chris are coming in later. Apparently there was something they needed to finish first. Work stuff. The gun business does not slow down over the holidays.”

Is that enough information for Derek? Will he understand that this is the Argent family? Because he specifically mentioned not wanting to talk to Chris Argent, and Stiles is not going to make him, no matter how rude that might make them seem. He has every intention of being disgusting about PDA or pretending fucking in the tree house if that helps Derek feel safe. 

He has wondered why Derek doesn’t want Argent to talk to him, has wondered what it is specifically that Argent would say, what he’s done to make Derek distrust him so. Derek has taken all the abuse he’s gotten from the people of Beacon Hills as a given, and he hasn’t protested or even shown that it’s affecting him. Except for Argent. And Stiles is a curious little shit who really wants to know why. 

“Neither does the translation business,” Derek nods sagely, even though his body is tense. 

And Stiles is… turned the fuck on. Because of course Derek speaks Polish, and probably a bunch of other languages too. If Derek wears glasses while translating, Stiles might actually die. 

How much would his friends make fun of him if he just whimpered right now? 

Derek was actually killing him. 

“Or mine,” Stiles tries to act like someone who’s not dying on the inside. “But I take days off to bake even more, for free, for all of you. You ungrateful assholes.”

Yeah, that is better than whimpering because Derek is trying to kill him with his hotness and kindness and intelligence and Stiles has always had this competence kink, hasn’t he? And a language kink, and… Those are really Derek-specific now. 

“I’m sure Derek is very grateful,” Kira is still grinning, damn her. “We don’t have a coat closet or a linen closet or anything, but I’m sure there’s a private place to be found if either one of you wants to show some appreciation. I do know your tendencies towards PDA and exhibitionism.” 

Cue Scott sputtering from the kitchen that he could stand to know a whole lot less about it, and cue Stiles trying to feel Derek out, to see how open he’d be to the idea. Because well, they’d practiced and Stiles is just a weak bisexual boy who is vulnerable to the many charms of Derek Hale. And there are many - Derek doesn’t even realize it, but there are. 

And Stiles just wants to give him all the things - but only the nice ones. 

“Let me get warmed up first,” Derek is so witty about his response. “Stiles warned me about the mistletoe. We’ll get to any closets later.” 

Which means that Stiles is mentally cataloguing potential closets or bathrooms or anywhere he can get Derek alone. Because he’s resorted to planning trysts with his fake boyfriend. If Derek minded at all, he would not be encouraging it like this. He’d use the sass to tease Stiles, saying something about there being children present or whatever. 

Derek doesn’t not want to make out with him. Derek doesn’t not have an exhibitionism thing. It is a lot to process, and that’s why his mouth is quicker than his brain. 

“Promise?” Stiles turns to Derek, because he can’t not. 

“Sure, pinky promise,” Derek rolls his eyes. 

So naturally Stiles makes him hold out his pinkie, manfully ignoring the giggles coming from the couch (fucking Isaac). Derek gives him a look, but he goes along with it any way, and Stiles just pretends that the touch of their fingers isn’t sending a bolt of electricity through him. 

This is getting ridiculous. This is Mr. Darcy type stuff - it’s just fingers. It’s a pinky promise, for fuck’s sake. There is nothing sexy about a pinky promise. 

“Speaking of mistletoe,” Kira just will not stop smiling today. 

Okay, now that is a speaking of that he can totally get behind. Of course Scott and Kira have kept the tacky plastic mistletoe they’ve been decorating with since college. Scott called it an investment back then, Kira just calls it a good excuse. 

It still is a good excuse, not just for Scott and Kira. 

“What a coincidence,” Derek’s voice is like gravel. 

“I had no idea it would be here,” Stiles smiles helplessly at Derek. 

He’s usually a pretty solid liar, but because he’s already warned Derek about this, it is probably pretty easy for him to tell that Stiles has been expecting this. And to be honest, he’s kind of been hoping for this, because those practice kisses have only managed to whet his appetite. He can’t help himself, if there’s going to be another opportunity, he’s going to take it. 

Derek leans in and whispers. “You’re a terrible liar.” 

Stiles wishes he could refute that, and maybe he would if Derek wasn’t inches away from him, something that is almost a smile on his face. It is entrancing, enchanting, and Stiles is basically the Helpless song from Hamilton at this point. 

At least now that’s going to be stuck in his head instead of stupid holiday songs that he secretly loves. 

“Are you going to make me wait for it?” Stiles whispers, almost against Derek’s lips. 

Patience is not something that he is particularly good at, which honestly should not be a surprise to anyone, not even to someone like Derek, who technically has not known him all that long yet. But anyone who knows Stiles Stilinski should be aware that he has issues with patience, with waiting, even with sitting still for long stretches of time. 

“Maybe,” Derek teases. 

And so it happens that Stiles is halfway to a pout when Derek bridges the final inches between them. Somehow that works for them, because well, pretty much anything involving him and Derek kissing is working for Stiles. He’s just so good at it. 

It is even better this time - because that’s possible, apparently. Stiles is having some trouble thinking, because his entire mind is occupied with Derek’s wet mouth on his, a soft, warm pressure, and then it’s preoccupied by a tongue teasing at his lips. He opens his mouth right away - no patience, just more, now. More of Derek. 

He makes grabby hands at Derek, and he can hear Isaac giggling again, but he doesn’t care because Derek is still kissing him and Stiles is barely managing to pull him closer. 

“Is this why Scott is hiding in the kitchen?” Allison’s voice sounds out. 

“Not the whole reason,” Scott shouts from said kitchen. “Someone has to guard the pie.” 

Ugh, this means that he has to let go, doesn’t it? 

Yes, so he’s pouting yet again, because Derek has stopped kissing him. He hasn’t let go completely, which is excellent, but Kira has stepped aside and they no longer have the excuse of the mistletoe on their side. As long as Derek keeps touching him, Stiles is content to let the bickering pass him by, for now. 

“And by guard you mean eat all of it?” Isaac has his doubts about Scott’s guarding skills. 

Or more likely, his intentions. Because Scott and Stiles’ deep-dish blueberry bacon pie are a match made in heaven. It’s lucky for him that Kira is not the jealous sort. 

There is more grumbling from the kitchen, but Stiles tries to pay it no mind because Allison has approached Derek, and it feels like a ton of strings are being plucked at the same time, like the room has suddenly gone from a casual atmosphere to one of extreme tension, just because Allison and Derek are within touching distance. And for once, this is no fun tension, this is… something dangerous, it seems. Something fraught and terrifying. 

Something Stiles should probably do something about, because this clearly is not a nice thing - it can’t be. The tension in Derek’s body has multiplied exponentially since Allison came in, and it doesn’t look like it’s getting any better now that she has made her approach. 

“It really is you, Derek,” Allison’s face does… something, before going back to normal. 

“Hello.” 

Derek is practically monosyllabic again, and Stiles mourns the progress he’d made before promising himself that he’d get Derek back to that point somehow. Maybe by getting him alone for a bit - Derek always does better when it’s just him and Stiles. It’s probably a bit overwhelming with all of those people, seeing as Derek hasn’t had this many friendly people around him since… his family. Fuck. Yeah, Stiles needs to do something, probably. 

But there is a grimace on Derek’s face that is supposed to pass for a smile, and Derek hasn’t used the safeword yet. He’s going to try to deal with this head-on, which kind of just makes Stiles want to kiss him more. Maybe later? 

“It’s nice to see you again,” Allison’s dimples are out now. “Under better circumstances.” 

This is all-business Allison, the side of Allison that can feel kind of scary. This is the CEO of Argent Arms, not the girl he met in sophomore year of high school who’d forgotten a pen on the first day of school. Sometimes he forgets that Allison is an archery champion who’s quite good with any kind of weapon - her dimples included. 

“Yes,” Derek at least shakes Allison’s hand, briefly. “You’re quite the leader now, I hear.” 

Leader of what? The company? True, the Argent family has this thing about the one of the women being the CEO of their large company. So that’s probably it - but how does Derek even know about the details of how that company is run? They’ve met before, which is possible because the Argents have been in Beacon Hills on and off for the past fifteen years or so. They could have met then, before everything, before the world screwed Derek over. 

But it doesn’t explain the look on Derek’s face. 

Stiles desperately wants to know, but Derek doesn’t owe him that information, and he doesn’t seem all that likely to tell Stiles. And for all the ways in which Stiles believes that they really are building something resembling a friendship here, Derek is still closed off emotionally. With the one exception of that moment in the car, when he actually talked about Laura for a bit. And yes, Derek doesn’t owe him anything, but Stiles really, really wants to make things better for him. 

And then everything changes when Chris Argent attac- comes in. 

There is an awkward silence at first, because no one else seems to understand the undercurrent of tension here. Well, Allison, and Stiles (to some extent)... Stiles looks at Isaac, trying to figure out how much he knows about this. It would be unethical to pry, to get Isaac to reveal Derek’s secrets, but… No, no buts. He can’t do that. 

“Derek.” 

Is Derek actually flinching? This is like the western from hell, because this is a family gathering and not a duel. There is no room for both men to take ten paces and then shoot. Also, Derek isn’t armed - Stiles isn’t fooling himself into thinking Chris doesn’t have a gun either on him or in the car. 

But that’s not somewhere he needs to take his mind.

“Chris.” 

The name does not sound natural from Derek’s lips, and that only ratchets up the tension even further. Someone has to do something, say something. 

And well, he has no illusions about his own personality. 

“Stiles,” he says, just to show them there are other people in the room. 

Derek’s shoulders are no longer up near his ears, at least. The spell is broken, and Derek is looking away from Chris Argent now, even though Stiles gets the sense that he is still ready to attack if necessary. One step at a time, though. 

“You’re an idiot,” Derek pointedly tells him, still extremely tense. 

“Thanks babe,” Stiles pastes on a grin and reaches for Derek’s hand. “Wanna go make out a bit before dinner? I think you’re all warmed up now and I’m… impatient.” 

Also, Stiles just wants to get Derek the hell away from Chris Argent for a bit. During dinner, they can entertain themselves, and Stiles can keep them separated - they don’t have to interact at all while they’re eating. But right now, when everyone is just hanging out? That’s just dangerous, there is way too much opportunity for people to start getting into the dicier subjects, and considering the tension between Derek and the Argents, there are a lot of those. 

And that is not even taking any of the others into account. 

“Of course you can’t keep it in your pants,” Isaac tilts his head, ridiculous cheekbones on full display - because fuck him. “Can’t blame you, though.” 

Sometimes Isaac is aggressively bisexual and Stiles just wants to give him a bi-five. (That’s a high five between bi people, duh.) Derek is completely nonplussed - the only one who is startled is Argent senior. Probably because his son-in-law doesn’t usually flirt with dudes in front of him - which is just a tragedy, really. Though, technically, Scott is a bit of an exception to this. Stiles has no idea how Scott can be even remotely oblivious about it, but he is. 

Still, Stiles grabs Derek’s hand. He doesn’t know who needs the reassurance more at this point - probably Derek - but it seems like it helps them both. So Stiles pulls them both towards the stairs and hopes they can avoid any awkward encounters on the way. 

“Think of the children,” Kira shouts at them on the way upstairs. 

Stiles is going to be thinking of anything but those kids, but yeah, he gets what she means. He will make sure not to traumatize them (too much). 

* * *

He has a very particular room in mind here, because it’s not like any old room will do for him and Derek. Okay, it’s not so much about the room itself as it is about the distance between them and the others downstairs, and between them and Melissa and the kiddos. 

No one needs to overhear any of this. Even though they’re not going to be doing what everyone thinks they’re going to be doing. Probably. Unfortunately. 

“Hey,” Stiles closes the bathroom door behind them. 

“Hey?”

At least, Stiles thinks that is supposed to be a question. With Derek, one can never be quite sure of that. He has a pretty uncertain relationship with inflection. 

“I know you didn’t darling me,” Stiles starts, trying not to feel guilty, “but I was supposed to drag you off if Chris Argent tried to talk to you and this was the best I could do.” 

This is just… It is one of the few boundaries that Derek has mentioned, and since it is so very easy for Stiles to keep track of them, he has to honor his word. He told Derek he was going to respect his boundaries, and so he should walk the walk. They can just play I Spy in the bathroom for thirty minutes, for all he cares. 

As long as Derek feels safe. 

“I know,” is all that Derek says. 

Does that make it up to Stiles to fill the silence? He can do that - he is exactly the right person for that job. If Derek wants him to, he can talk for hours on end just to distract him from everything going on downstairs and everyone involved in it. He’s good at talking about basically nothing - he can probably medal in it if he wants to. 

“So, you’ve pretty much met everyone now,” Stiles starts talking. 

Because well, that’s what he’s good at: nonsense. 

“The kids are with their grandma,” he continues. “I don’t know if you’ve met Melissa yet. She works at the hospital. She’s basically a goddess. Raised Scotty pretty much single-handedly because his father’s an asshole. The other grandparents are in Japan for the holidays this year - Kira’s family mostly still lives there. Kira and Scott are taking the kids there this summer.” 

Stiles hasn’t talked to Noshiko and Ken in ages. He never knows quite what to think of Kira’s mother - there’s something about her that he can’t put his finger on and it makes him feel a little uneasy - but Ken Yukimura is a brilliant man. He was one of Stiles’ favorite teachers in high school, and Kira’s mischievous side definitely comes from his side of the family. Sometimes when Stiles hangs out at the McCall-Yukimura household, he listens in on family calls and adds his two cents (or five, or ten, or a whole dollar). Ken usually appreciates it. 

Now, who else is there?

“I think you’ve met everyone else,” Stiles goes through the list in his head, “except Boyd, but you’re meeting him tomorrow. I think you’ll like him. He’s quiet, steady, sarcastic as all get out. He looks like a line-backer but he’s a pediatrics nurse with a heart of gold. Reminds me a lot of you. Maybe not so much the nurse, but the built like a truck bit. And the heart of gold.” 

At least that gets him a response. It’s just deeply sarcastic eyebrow raise, but Stiles is absolutely fine with that. It’s Derek’s personality shining through, and Derek should remember that Stiles has already told him how much he likes that side of him. 

“You’ve already met Erica, at the bakery,” Stiles ignores the sass, grinning. “She’s very, very pregnant right now, and therefore even sassier than she usually is. And that’s really saying something. Which is probably why she’s one of my favorite people in the world.” 

Erica is the greatest - even though she’s been texting him daily since she met Derek at the bakery, with increasingly lewd comments about how hot Derek is and how lucky Stiles is and how he’d better give her all the details because she’s just a poor, horny pregnant lady. And Stiles laughs and teases her in return because there is no way Boyd is not catering to her every whim. Those two are in Love, capital letter intentional. Boyd dotes on Erica now, and Erica dotes on Boyd when he comes home from a double shift. That’s how they roll. 

“I love my friends,” Stiles keeps talking because Derek still isn’t saying anything. “I really do, but they’re all coupled up and they think I should be too. They’ve been pushing me for ages. I’ve been on a stupid amount of blind dates, and nothing ever pans out. Because it’s never the right person, or because they don’t like my job or my personality. Because I’m too much of one thing, or not enough of another, and why am I complaining about this to you?” 

Really, why does he hate himself this much? He’s self-sabotaging, telling Derek all of the reasons why no one wants to be with him - he really doesn’t need to give Derek any more reasons to ditch him after the holidays are over. He needs to give Derek reasons to want to be his friend - or possibly more than that, if he’s so inclined - needs to show Derek that he’s awesome and most of all he needs to show Derek that he’s worth it. That he’s awesome and worth all awesomeness. That he deserves to be appreciated. 

“Because you have a captive audience,” Derek mutters. 

“If you wanna talk instead,” Stiles offers. 

There is no way that Derek is going to take him up on his offer, but here he is, making it anyway. Because Derek has to know that Stiles is willing to listen to whatever he has to say. 

“It’s not so much want,” Derek struggles to find the words. 

“If there’s something you need to say,” Stiles thinks he gets where this is going. “You can tell me. I’ll listen to you. And I won’t spread it around all willy-nilly.” 

That’s such a funny thing to say - he’d snicker at it if that wouldn’t completely wreck the mood he’s been trying to set for the past… five seconds? And even now he’s having trouble being serious, because he’s an idiot. 

“Argent feels guilty,” Derek suddenly says. 

And wow, Stiles did not know that this was where they were going, but he is into it. He’s a curious asshole, and he’s hoping that this will let him help Derek even more. 

“About what?” Stiles asks, because he has terrible impulse control. 

“My family,” Derek says. 

Stiles might actually stop breathing, because that is… What is there for Chris Argent to feel guilty about? Is this? Is this actually an admission of guilt? Was Chris fucking Argent involved in the death of most of Derek’s extended family? Why? How?

Did Allison know? She was a kid back then, but still. Did she? 

But mostly… Why? Why would he? How could he? 

For once, Stiles is speechless. Scott would love to get a picture of this, that is how speechless he is. But maybe Derek is actually going to talk now. 

“Our families go way back,” Derek just talks, and Stiles lets him. “My grandparents knew Allison’s grandparents. The feud goes back further than that.”

A feud? A legit, actual feud? Like this was actually a legit western? Like his stupid thoughts of duels and ten paces weren’t actually all that off? If it were a lighter topic, Stiles would definitely be gloating about it right about now. Alas, he can’t do that now. 

“The Argents always hate the Hales,” Derek continues, and he’s not looking at Stiles, so it’s going to get bad. “Usually, there’s a truce. Kate wrecked that. Chris’ sister.” 

Stiles doesn’t actually want Derek to keep talking anymore. Well, he does, but he doesn’t. He does because he has a feeling that he’s going to find out who actually killed the Hales (once again, does Allison know?), but also there is no way that there are any nice things to be found here for Derek. There is nothing nice about any of this. 

It sucks that Derek has had to go through all of this - and mostly that he had to do it alone. So maybe he should talk, maybe he should be able to tell someone. Because he can’t keep holding onto this forever, all by himself. 

But who the fuck decided that Stiles was qualified to be Derek’s person? Oh, right, Stiles did. 

“I was fifteen,” Derek’s face is carefully blank, and the bottom drops out of Stiles’ stomach. “She was a substitute teacher at the high school. I was a stupid kid and it got my family killed.” 

Should he bake Derek more pie? How is he supposed to make this better? He needs to make this better, and telling Derek it was not his fault is not going to help. Even though Stiles is completely right about it, Derek is not going to want to hear that. Because he wants to feel guilty about this - and that’s the real problem. That’s the way Derek’s dealt with it over the years, just accepting all of the misery in his life as his due. 

And to be fair, what else is he supposed to do? Believe in a systematically unfair world that really has it out for him for no apparent reason? Because that also really, really sucks. 

“You’ve never been this quiet,” Derek is already on the attack. 

“I wanted to give you room to talk,” Stiles opens his mouth, and he knows that the nervous babbling is about to start any second now. “And I’m trying to find the right things to say here, but I don’t think there is a right thing to say. I’m sorry this happened to you is the best I can do, but I know it’s not enough. I’m sure you can find a fake boyfriend who’s better at that.” 

Well, Stiles’ friends are pretty much all taken, but he’s sure he can make a list. Parrish? Parrish could be on the list. He would probably be a good fake boyfriend - better than Stiles. 

“Doubtful,” is all Derek says. 

“Derek, I’m terrible at this,” Stiles warns. “I mean, my usual solution to the difficult stuff is to bury myself in work or to make out with someone until they’re no longer interested in talking. Not sure that’s gonna do either of us much good here.” 

It doesn’t solve anything. Not that there is anything that can be solved. But there is nothing Stiles can do that is going to make this better. Except maybe let Derek get somewhere far, far away from the Argent family. Or at least make sure that Derek wouldn’t have to interact with Chris at all - for some reason Allison wasn’t as much of a problem, probably because she’d been a kid when everything with Derek’s family went down. So maybe there was something that Stiles could do after all. Be a buffer. He knows he’s good at that, at least. 

“I’m not a problem for you to solve,” Derek’s anger is not over and done with. 

“I know,” Stiles has no idea how to get himself out of this. “I know. Just… tell me what I can do. Do you wanna go? Do you wanna keep talking? What do you want? It’s your call.” 

And Stiles is going to be on his side regardless. Hell, he’s already thinking of about a dozen way that he can make Chris’ Christmas (hah!) a bit more unpleasant. Is it the mature way to handle it? Absolutely fucking not. But is it what he’s going to do? Absolutely fucking yes. 

“Kiss me,” Derek says, and Stiles gapes at him. 

“What?”

Is this what mood whiplash feels like? Sure, he gets that Derek wants to get rid of any feeling of vulnerability, but this is a bit much, isn’t it? 

Not that he doesn’t wanna make out. Like, he’s pretty much always down for that. But is Derek? 

“We don’t look like we’ve been fooling around,” Derek thinks that’s an explanation. 

“We’re in a bathroom,” Stiles frantically looks around. “We could have cleaned ourselves up a bit before going back. I mean, I’m totally down with the making out. Like I said, it’s my go-to way to avoid any kind of awkward conversations, and…” 

Derek cuts him off halfway through that, by pulling him in close - surprisingly gentle about it even with his strong grip - and kissing him, hands in Stiles’ hair to mess it up. And Stiles is not just going to go along with it and let himself be kissed. No sir, he is kissing back, and wrinkling Derek’s shirt, and he’d leave a hickey if he thought Derek would be up for that. 

And then, Derek pulls back to inspect the damage. “Okay, that’ll do.” 

Stiles avoids looking in the mirror - he doesn’t want to walk out with a boner on top of looking like he’s been ravaged for thirty or so minutes. That would be awkward. 

He follows Derek downstairs instead, and rolls his eyes at what he finds. 

There are two seats left open - next to each other, because his friends may be assholes from time to time, but they’re not actually monsters. Though Stiles wants to rethink that when he sees that one of the seats is next to Chris fucking Argent. Did they really think a solid thirty or so minutes spent upstairs would make it any less awkward? Doubtful. 

Stiles takes the seat next to Chris, grinning at Allison’s dad in a way that bares way too many teeth. There is nothing nice about this warning, and Chris knows it. He has to. 

Derek sits down too, between Stiles and Kira. His brows are still set to their usual resting murderface mode, but Stiles can’t blame him for that. All he can do is avoid the topic and make someone else the center of attention. 

Luckily, he’s pretty damn good at that. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve already eaten all the blueberry-bacon pie, Scotty,” Stiles pretends to get angry with his best friend. 

“Not all of it,” Scott replies sheepishly. 

Which probably means there is maybe one piece left. Oh Scotty. 


	5. Bad idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Stiles and Derek hang out with Erica and Boyd - and there is much banter.   
> No one is raining on Derek's parade. Except Derek.

Stiles tries not to be upset that he wakes up in his apartment, alone, on Boxing Day. He knows that he can’t blame Derek for wanting some distance after everything that has happened over the course of the last few days. 

Still, it sucks. Because he’s greedy. And he knows this thing has a time limit. The fake-dating thing, not the friendship thing. There are no time limits on friendship, and Derek is just going to have to deal with that, because he is clearly in desperate need of some friends, and Stiles has already drafted his application. In triplicate. 

He would have asked for references if it wouldn’t have made his friends suspicious. Sure, it’s exactly his brand of Stiles-y weirdness, but the timing is suspect. 

Derek texts him when he pulls up in front of Stiles’ place, because of course they’re taking that gorgeous Camaro - it’s a sex mobile, and Stiles won’t hear anything against that. Not that he’s mentioned it to Derek - not out loud. He’s not that much of an idiot. 

Scott would probably beg to differ, but he’s not allowed to talk after making himself sick trying to eat two pies and a normal dinner. Sometimes Stiles really wonders how Kira manages to handle all three of her children. Especially the adult one. 

When he sees Derek again, flashes of last night’s search history run through his head. He can’t look Derek in the eye, so he yawns - because he really is tired - and almost falls into the passenger seat of the Camaro. 

“Late night,” Derek doesn’t do that inflection thing. 

“Trouble sleeping,” Stiles shrugs, as if this is a regular thing - which it is. “I think I had a nightmare about Scott’s puke-y face at some point.” 

It is a vision one would only see in a nightmare, though Stiles has seen it many a time before - and probably will see it again next Christmas. Or even before then, because the way Scott can put food away is almost supernatural. Stiles would almost believe in the supernatural just because of Scott’s ridiculous eating - that and some other weird stuff that has happened over the years. But that’s not the point here. 

“I can’t blame you,” Derek nods and pulls out of his parking space. 

Derek is surly, more quiet than he’s been in days. His jaw is clenched tight, and he’s barely looking at Stiles. And while Derek has specifically told him that his anger is not directed at Stiles, it still stings. Because Stiles is supposed to make things better for him, not worse. And so far, he’s been fucking up at it, like a lot. 

“You can still drop out,” Stiles tells him once again. “You won’t have to explain anything to anyone. I’ll tell everyone it was all my fault, I screwed up. Which I did, so. And don’t try to defend me, you don’t need to. This is not that. Just, this hasn’t been fair to you.” 

He feels like he’s going around in circles. He doesn’t want to pretend that he knows everything of what’s best for Derek, so he can’t pull the plug on this himself. But he also doesn’t want Derek to continue to martyr himself, forcing himself to hang out with all of these people who mostly treat him like he’s worth less than the dirt under their shoes. There won’t be any of that today - Erica isn’t that person and Boyd knows all about people’s preconceived notions - but it’s still another day of hanging out with strangers when Derek could be taking care of himself. 

Not that he would. He doesn’t do that much. Has he even been in therapy at all? (Not that Stiles has any right to say anything about that.)

“It’s okay,” Derek is probably lying. 

“I don’t  _ want _ to keep treating you like a virgin on prom night,” Stiles knows he’s probably sticking his foot in it again. “I don’t  _ want _ to keep asking if you’re sure. But I’m that asshole who will, because I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. Even if you think you deserve to be.” 

It sucks that they keep having to do this, but Stiles knows Derek hasn’t actually known him all that long. And a few days of niceness aren’t going to make up for everything that has happened to Derek - that’s why it’s a long-term project, and… He’s just going in circles again, because he hates it when there’s nothing he can do to make things better. 

Nice things. All the nice things! Ugh, just, not fair. 

“You say weird things sometimes,” Derek cuts through the thoughts in his head with an extremely unsubtle subject change. 

“Only sometimes?” Stiles gasps. “I must be slipping. Quick, say something I can make fun of!” 

Derek rolls those ridiculous eyes of his and Stiles knows they’re back on track. 

Even though there are still a million thoughts running through his head, thoughts he has to push down because his brain-to-mouth filter is total shit even at the best of times. 

It’s just...No one knows what has happened to Kate Argent - not officially. She disappeared a few months after Derek’s trial and hasn’t been seen since. Her brother was the last person to see her, and he was convincingly distraught - Stiles knows how good an actor Chris can be - but nothing ever came of the investigation. 

He wouldn’t be surprised if Kate had been banished, if the matter had been taken care of outside the law. And he wouldn’t blame them for that, were it not that Derek was still left to rot in a jail cell, a fifteen year old boy who never should have been blamed for any of it. Because it wasn’t and isn’t his fault. Who can blame a child for trusting an adult, a teacher, an authority figure? Derek has been taken advantage of, and no one has dared to make it right. 

It’s not Stiles’ job, but someone needs to do something. 

“Stop thinking so hard,” Derek puts a stop to that right away. “You look constipated.”

Wow, rude. That asshole just… He’s trying to make Stiles smile, and that’s just really fucking rude of him. Stiles doesn’t need more reasons to fall for him, especially since he’s getting no signals whatsoever that Derek might be interested. Okay, well, maybe there have been some, but it’s this fake relationship thing that is making the boundaries about all that a bit iffy. Because really, practice kissing is a weak excuse that Derek didn’t have to go along with. 

Honestly, Stiles should have figured out he had a crush ages ago just from that. 

“Erica is going to love you,” Stiles is pouty about that. 

Anyone who makes fun of Stiles a little is going to get in Erica’s good books, because she knows him far too well. And with Derek’s resting murderface and overall lack of a sunny demeanor, Erica is going to like him even more when he does joke around, because Derek is going to remind her of Boyd. Who will be right there, but still. 

“Are you... jealous?” Derek seems surprised about that. 

Stiles wants all of his friends to like Derek, to love him, to pull him into their ridiculous little gang and make him their friend too. But he also wants his friends to not embarrass him - because Erica is going to see right away just how head over heels he is here. Sure, she’ll see it as a part of this fake relationship, but she’ll know, and she’ll tease him for it because she’s exactly the same way over Boyd and Stiles made fun of her so much at first. 

It’s payback time, and he knows it. 

“She’s going to make fun of me the whole time,” Stiles decides to explain it to Derek. “Because that’s the kind of person she is. I love my Catwoman.” 

Because Stiles is looking at Derek as they both get out of the car - and how can he not - he notices the slight sigh escaping Derek. He worries a little, because, well, he’s an idiot and he wants this to go better than yesterday and the day before. Because first there was the rich people and Jackson thing (even though Jackson has apologized and Stiles has a feeling that apology won’t be the end of that family relationship), and then the Argent thing. Boyd and Erica are pretty much safe after all of that, and he wishes he could have shown Derek this first. 

He really has put him through a lot for just a free meal. 

“I’m surprised you showed up at all,” Erica is not playing around. 

They haven’t even stepped into the house yet, and Erica is already a lot to deal with. Which, Stiles has to take another look at Derek, who’s actually almost smiling at Erica’s particular brand of love. It’s a love language he might actually be familiar with - Laura, Stiles is sure it reminds him of Laura - and something that actually appears to make Derek feel at ease. 

Gentle ribbing. That’s the thing Stiles should be doing too. 

“Should you be waddling that quickly?” Stiles immediately gives her shit in return. “We don’t want Vernon Boyd the Fourth falling out early.” 

Erica looks great though, albeit a bit tired. Looking at her now, no one would guess that she used to get terrifying seizures on the regular back in high school. She looks healthy, strong (which she really, really is), and so damn happy. Even though she does text him at all hours to complain about the baby punching her bladder to make his presence known. 

“No,” Boyd steps out onto the porch too. 

“Pregnant lady veto powers,” Erica immediately reminds him. “I have to carry this gigantic child, I get veto powers when it comes to the name.” 

Yeah, Boyd is a giant (6’3” totally qualifies as a giant for normal-sized people), so it figures that this was never going to be a small baby. And it is just like Erica to use that fact to her advantage to win a battle like this one. Because she’s a lot like her feline namesake - only she’s not as good a thief. She tried, but she never managed to steal a thing from Stiles’ pockets. 

“Do you hate our child?” Boyd looks completely serious, but Stiles knows better. 

“Only when he makes me pee twelve times a night,” Erica presses a kiss to Boyd’s cheek before trying to shove him back inside the house. “Now get. I’m starving and if you let anything burn, I won’t be able to feed your child.” 

Is she actually batting her lashes at Boyd? She probably is, if Stiles knows her at all. Part of him wants to look at Derek (he always wants to look at Derek, shut up) just to see him taking it all in, to see how he responds to all of this. Stiles just wants Derek to like these people so damn much, and it’s nerve-wracking. And this isn’t even a real relationship. 

“Oh, he’s mine now, huh,” Boyd sneaks another kiss before going back inside. 

They’re nauseating, they really are. Stiles is ridiculously jealous all of a sudden. 

“Come in, you two,” Erica turns her attention back to them. “Before I have this baby on our porch and my sexy nurse husband will burn the food after all.” 

Stiles pretends to gag, because his inner child will never die. 

“He’s very attractive,” Derek says then, and Stiles chokes on thin air. 

“You’re a troll,” Erica tells him in return. “I like you. Come in.” 

Boyd is extremely attractive and Derek is completely right but Stiles is just… dying, because he certainly was not expecting this. Derek is going along with this, with an ease that Stiles has never seen from him before. He’s more loose, more at ease, than Stiles has seen him with anyone but… Stiles himself. 

And once again, he’s not going to read into things. 

“Should I be jealous?” Stiles plays his part in this ridiculous conversation. 

“Only if he’s as great in bed as you are,” Derek blows every previous comment out of the water. 

At this point, Stiles just actively waits to die, because this cannot be happening. Derek must be trying to kill him here, and Stiles can die happy because Derek is telling his friends that Stiles is great in bed which means that he’s not just witty. He’s also thought about what Stiles would be like in bed, and that’s… Stiles is going to need some private time to think about that. Derek is welcome to join him, though. 

“Best day ever,” Erica whispers to Stiles with an unholy smirk on her face. 

“Love you too, Catwoman,” he returns, grabbing hold of Derek’s hand for safety. 

For safety, yeah, that’s a solid reason. It’s not, but Stiles can pretend it is, because he really fucking needs to hold Derek’s hand right now, while he still can. It’s a good hand, and it feels right in his, and Derek is still really good at doing that stroking him with his thumb bit. So Stiles’ legs are basically jelly as he trips into the Boyd-Reyes house. 

The smell of bacon is coming in from the kitchen, and he smells cinnamon and hints of fruit - so clearly they’re going all out this year. Not that the spread is in any way disappointing when they don’t, but it seems like they’re trying to impress someone. Clearly that someone is not Stiles. 

“Nice to see you again, Erica,” Derek is polite for a hot second. 

“You too,” Erica drops down into the comfiest chair in the house - her throne. “And I want to applaud you for making it this far. None of the winners Stiles has dated before have made it through meeting the friends unscathed.” 

That is more of a comment on Stiles’ terrible taste in partners, than a comment on how terrible his friends are. Okay, well, maybe it’s a bit of both. But his friends don’t actively try to chase people off, even if they think they’re not worthy of Stiles’ awesomeness. 

(And yes, that last bit is a direct quote from Scotty, naturally.)

“Scott’s shovel talk was particularly vicious,” Derek pulls out a chair for Stiles as he says this. 

Stiles swoons, because of course he does. 

“Of course it was,” Erica is almost giggling now. 

“He threatened to rip Derek’s throat out,” Stiles does a quick recap. “With his teeth.” 

Which, for Scott, is basically a miracle. There have been attempts at shovel talks before, Stiles is sure of it, even though he’s never been witness to one before (not from Scott, anyway). But the fact that he did it so openly this time is probably a good sign. It means that Scott thinks that Derek would have told Stiles about it anyway, that he would take it in the spirit in which it was intended: 90% joke and 10% Scott’s attempt at actually being protective. 

“Look at my baby boy,” Erica pats her belly. “He’s finally grown up.”

Seeing as her actual baby boy is still in that big belly, it’s a bit funny to hear her talking that way about Scotty. Though she is not wrong - even though Scott’s a bit older than Erica. 

“I had to prompt him,” Derek reveals. 

“That sounds more like him,” Erica nods sagely. “Boyd, baby, is the food ready yet? Before your child actually manages to devour my insides?”

Yes, Erica being a drama queen is just one of the many reasons why she is one of his favorite people in the entire fucking world. Devour her insides, Jesus. He loves her. She’s the sister he’s never had (and never particularly wanted until he became friends with Erica). 

“I hear those are particularly nutritious for unborn babies,” Boyd comes into the room, easily carrying several big plates of food. “He’s not even in the top percentile for height and weight yet. There’s still room to grow.” 

Everything smells fantastic, as usual. Because Boyd is a gift. 

“Boyd, Derek,” Stiles makes some quick introductions. “Derek, Boyd. Or Vernon, if you’re sleeping with him.” 

Honestly, not even Erica calls him that, but Stiles really wants to say it. It’s not quite a Ms. Jackson if you’re nasty, but it’ll do. 

“Vernon,” Derek is completely straight-faced as he shakes Boyd’s hand. 

Erica shrieks with laughter, holding her belly the whole time. “Stiles, marry him.” 

Oh God, Erica should not be putting those pictures in his head. But they’re good pictures, wonderful ones in fact, and so he’s not too angry about it. Besides, getting Erica’s approval makes him feel all warm and fuzzy, and the fact that Derek is actually smiling is making him crack up too. Because a happy, teasing Derek is the best Derek, the hottest Derek. 

“Not if he’s sleeping with your husband I’m not,” Stiles is too busy laughing to sounds offended. 

“I don’t know how I’m gonna quit him,” Boyd’s deadpan makes it even more hilarious. 

That is the moment Stiles actually loses it completely, wiping tears from his eyes (how did those even get there?) while he tries not to faceplant into the food. 

“Stiles,” Derek says, and he turns to look. 

“Yeah?” 

Derek presses a quick kiss to his lips - so quick that Stiles barely even has enough time to kiss him back before he’s gone again. It’s perfect, it’s every adorable thing he has always resented in other couples. It’s not real, but it’s fucking perfect. 

“Disgusting,” Erica proclaims, already having stuffed half a roll in her mouth. 

Annoyingly, she’s still glowing (pregnancy glow is apparently real) even with a mouth full of half masticated bread roll. Sometimes life really isn’t fair - Stiles knows how ridiculous he looks when talking with his mouth full. Erica herself has pointed that out to him. 

“Chew, then swallow,” Boyd pats her shoulder gently. 

“But you don’t like it when I use teeth,” Erica bats her eyelashes in return. 

This woman is a demon and Stiles loves her so fucking much. He is going to be the most amazing Uncle to that baby, Erica doesn’t even know yet. 

“You’re a menace,” Boyd tells her, so fondly that it almost brings tears to Stiles’ eyes. “Eat the food I made for you and the baby. He’s thinking of devouring your pancreas next.” 

Erica mutters about how completely useless a pancreas is while continuing to stuff her face, and Stiles motions for Derek to help himself to something. Sure, they both know not to get between a pregnant woman and her food, but there’s more than enough food on the table. And Derek is still a guest - Stiles no longer counts as a guest according to Erica - and should therefore get his first helping before the others do. Before Stiles does, at least. 

“Eat up, Derek,” Erica has finally swallowed the first roll. “You need to keep up your strength. I’m sure Stiles is putting you through your paces. After the first round of food, we usually let him off his leash for a bit. I’m sure you’ll be able to keep him entertained, right? Or do I need to give Boyd a hall pass for the night?” 

A demon. An actual demon. 

“Actually,” Derek has lit up with the banter, and he’s never been more beautiful, “I can wear Stiles out just fine on my own. Excuse the yawning. He hasn’t been sleeping much.” 

That isn’t even a lie, damn him. Stiles hasn’t been sleeping all that well for ages, and he’ll probably yawn damningly several times before the first course is over. Yes, okay, brunches traditionally don’t have several courses, but Boxing Day Brunch at the Boyd-Reyes house always does. With convenient breaks for… naps? Coat closet hook-ups with his fake boyfriend? Whatever he’s in the mood for, really. 

* * *

Naps. Mostly, it’s naps. Because Erica is pregnant and tires easily and also needs naps, it’s easy to take that as an excuse to just curl up next to Derek and doze off a little while Derek and Boyd chat about… anything and everything. 

Derek is practically loquacious. 

“The baby’s room is all ready,” Boyd’s voice is a rumble to someone as sleepy as Stiles. “Stiles tried to help us paint. He got more paint on himself than on the walls, and then he fell asleep about an hour in. He was supposed to have a day off, but he came to help us instead.” 

Yeah, that did happen. Stiles is terrible at painting stuff, and Boyd and Erica probably knew that when they pointedly did not ask him to come and help. When he showed up anyway, they were happy to see him, happy to have him attempt to help even though his attempt only made a terrible mess and left Stiles with a headache from sleeping in a fume-filled room. 

And a backache from sleeping on the floor. 

“He’s like that,” Derek sounds soft, almost fond. 

Stiles burrows in closer against his warmth as a thank you for that compliment. Because Derek seems to like that he’s just like that. He doesn’t see it as something to admonish, or to shrug off, or to… He just… He likes that about Stiles. Derek likes him, enough to gently start running his fingers through Stiles’ hair. 

“He is a ridiculous person,” Boyd responds, also fond, so Stiles continues to pretend to be asleep. “Always has been. But when he cares about you… You’d better beware, because Stiles just… He doesn’t give up on people. Sometimes not even when he should.” 

Okay, this is not what he was expecting. Does Boyd not like Derek? Is this Boyd warning Derek off? Can Boyd tell that this is all fake? Can Boyd tell Derek doesn’t actually care about him? 

Yeah, that thought still stings. 

“Is this your shovel talk?” Derek comes right out and asks it. 

“Maybe,” Boyd’s voice has a bit of an edge now. “You’re a good guy, Derek. You’re good for him, I think. Just… if you’re not serious about him, just tell him. He’ll still be your friend - just ask Lydia. When she and Jackson were… off for a bit, she and Stiles… dated. Or well, he’d had a crush on her forever. He was thrilled she finally noticed him. It was a bad idea for both of them - but Lydia was smart enough to notice they weren’t right for each other. They’re still friends.” 

Boyd doesn’t usually talk this much, so Stiles holds himself still and listens. He wonders where this is going, because this doesn’t seem like the end of the story. The Lydia story is an old hurt that’s mostly healed, and they’re better for not being together. His version of her would have been good for him, but that was just someone he made up in his head. 

Just because it’s in his head, doesn’t mean it isn’t real - and yeah, sorry, that doesn’t really apply here, but nice try Stiles. 

“Stiles is different,” Derek sounds unsure, and Stiles just wants to make it better. 

He doesn’t know how, but he wants to. Because Derek’s voice is soft and slightly unsure, and it manages to make the word “different” sound like a thousand other words, most of them good, some of them not so much. Stiles hears “better” and “funny” and “insistent” and “terrifying” and “kind” and a whole bunch of other things Derek isn’t saying outright. 

“Tell me about it,” Boyd manages to make it sound like both an order and a joke. 

“He’s… he makes me…,” Derek is struggling to find the words, and Stiles knows he probably shouldn’t be listening to this. “He drives me crazy!” 

Okay, well, that’s just… He’s not going to move, he’s just going to stay where he is, letting Derek run his fingers through his hair, letting himself cling to Derek’s ridiculously soft sweater, and pointedly not letting himself move to a more comfortable position. Like, say, in Derek’s lap, with his head on those strong thighs and… Best not think about that too much, because there will be no way that he can keep still with those thoughts running through his head. 

“He’s just… He wants to make things better for me,” Derek sighs as if that’s actually a hardship somehow. “He’d fight the whole world if he needed to. It won’t change their minds, but he would do it anyway. And it’s not just because he likes fighting people.” 

Well, first of all, Derek, how dare you? Second of all, Derek is completely right about Stiles enjoying fighting people. He likes one-upping people, likes being better or smarter or whatever else that will show people that Stiles is fucking winning. 

“With his words,” Boyd specifies, and Stiles will actually punch him (and break his hand). 

Not that he is wrong, but still!

“Yes,” Derek chuckles, and Stiles feels the reverberations. “Sometimes he forgets that I don’t need him to fight my battles, or fix my life. It can’t be fixed. What’s done is done.” 

Sometimes Derek is just so fucking frustrating. It’s a struggle not to let his breathing pick up, not to show how frustrated he is about this. What is so wrong about wanting to help? About wanting Derek to have nice things? He doesn’t have those, and he can convince himself he doesn’t want them, but Stiles is really, really not fooled. Derek just doesn’t think he deserves them. 

“Doesn’t mean things can’t get better,” Boyd argues. “Trust me. Erica’s made my life a hell of a lot better by being in it. And by telling my mother to go screw herself. The actual wording escapes me. It was anatomically impossible and very crude. Very Erica.” 

Stiles wishes he’d been a fly on the wall for that conversation. He’s heard some things from Erica, because sometimes she needs an outside point of view, not just Boyd. But he really wants to know exactly what she said, exactly how she stood up for Boyd and held out her hand so they could walk out of there together. 

“Sounds like her,” Derek seems to agree. “My sister… Laura. She was a lot like that. She would get into trouble all the time and Mom didn’t seem to care. I thought it was so unfair back then.” 

That makes Stiles wish himself to sleep, because this is… This sort of thing is not for him to hear. It is for Derek to decide if he wants to reveal more of himself. Even though the fact that he’s talking to Boyd like this makes Stiles want to… Reward Derek, maybe? Die of the cuteness overload? Give Derek the biggest damn hug? Or D, all of the above. 

“I remember,” Boyd says, and Stiles’ heart might actually stop. “There was this once, I think it was junior high, and Erica had a seizure at the library. It was bad. Terrifying. We didn’t know if she was going to make it. And some asshole took out his phone. Instead of calling an ambulance, he was filming it.” 

Wait… That was Laura? He remembers this, remembers being in the library and calling Melissa after an ambulance had been called. Because someone had to tell them how to make sure Erica was safe until help arrived. He’d been a little too caught up in that to get too into the Matt fucking Daehler situation, but he’d heard the story afterwards. And he remembers seeing a girl in her late teens, maybe early twenties staring Matt down when the ambulance got there. 

“And your sister came up to him,” Boyd continues to reminisce. “All of 5’5” tall. And Matt had to be like, 5’10” even back then, even though he was maybe fifteen? Laura just accidentally stepped on his foot, grabbed his phone and dropped it onto the floor. And then she accidentally stepped on that too. Five times. She was looking him in the eye the whole time.” 

Fuck, Stiles just wants to laugh, because this… This is amazing. His heart aches, because this is exactly the kind of person that Derek deserves to have in his life - but she’s gone. 

“Of course she was,” Derek’s voice is hoarse, pained. 

Stiles makes a show of repositioning himself, dropping his head onto Derek’s lap and cuddling in close - hoping this will distract the guys from this topic and give Derek some time to pull himself together before Stiles finally “wakes up”. 

“He must really like you,” Boyd speaks up. “He is super tactile with the people he cares about - but he’s never been a cuddler with any of the people he showed up with before. Too close.” 

Boyd has him pegged and it is terrible. His heart is in his throat as he waits for Derek to respond, hoping that he hasn’t just driven him off by being stupidly into him. It would be weird to have to explain that to Boyd, but also it would just straight-up suck. 

“Yeah,” Derek’s voice is still a bit shaky. “He’s a cuddler.” 

Five more minutes. He’ll wake up in five more minutes. Right now, Derek has resumed the scalp massage, and Stiles is still feeling a bit tired. Everything can wait five more minutes. 

* * *

Of course he’d fallen asleep until Erica got up from her nap. Derek and Boyd made fun of him for it, and Stiles let them, because Derek had been smiling. 

He fucking loves that smile. 

After even more food, and more conversation - and more terrible jokes and banter - the time has come to say goodbye to Erica and Boyd. At least for now. He has no doubt that Erica will be back at the shop within the next few days, demanding free pie because of all of the hard work she is doing carrying not so little Baby Boyd. 

She’s earned it, so he won’t protest. 

“Don’t be a stranger,” Erica tells Derek. 

Now, well, that’s a bit awkward. Stiles is still hoping that Derek is sticking around, even if he won’t be Stiles’ fake boyfriend forever. And so far, the odds seem in his favor (suck that Effie Trinket), but he can never know for sure, not until it’s over. 

“I won’t,” Derek has a pleasant smile on his face, but Stiles is unsure of its sincerity. 

“Come here,” Erica holds out her arms. “If you can sleep with my husband and earn Vernon rights, you can definitely give me and Vernon Four a hug.” 

Stiles wants to jump up and defend Derek, citing his own possessive nature and keeping Derek from having to go through this. He’s not sure how comfortable Derek is with hugging anyone, even though Stiles keeps trying (within the parameters of their fake relationship, of course). He doesn’t want Erica to make Derek uncomfortable. Not in any way other than the fun, teasing way that seems to continue to remind Derek of Laura. 

“I’ll try not to squeeze Vernon Four right out of you,” Derek is rolling his eyes at her. 

“If only,” Erica pouts at him. “Pregnancy is hard work, and I just want this one to get here already. I’m sure he’ll be much more adorable when he’s not on top of my bladder.” 

Erica and Derek hug. It’s not a long hug, or a particularly friendly one - but it is an actual hug and Derek is exceedingly gentle about it. Erica pats Derek’s chest afterwards, like she’s Peggy Carter and he’s Steve Rogers, fresh from the serum. She’s a fucking troll, and Boyd is just standing there, laughing a deep belly laugh. Because clearly he’d been expecting this. 

“I love you,” Stiles tells Erica, meaning it with his entire heart. 

“I know,” she responds, because she knows him too well. “Though really, I should be the princess in this scenario. She’s a badass. Han is just a big goober tripping all over himself because he’s got a crush. That sounds like a Stiles problem.” 

Once again, it is completely true, and Erica is a damn menace. Though Stiles is probably more like Luke - he has no illusions about being half as much of a badass as Carrie Fisher. Erica is the only one here who’s going to come close. 

“Laura would be really proud of you,” Derek tells Erica, head held high. 

“My mission in life,” Erica responds just as sincerely, before preparing her next quip. “Now, Vernon, take me to bed or lose me forever.” 

Derek and Boyd do a little bro-hug thing that Stiles is grinning like a fool over, and then Boyd lifts Erica like she doesn’t weigh a damn thing. And damn. Stiles is impressed. And also a little turned on, thinking about Derek trying that move with him. Because Derek’s muscles have muscles, and Stiles is not all that heavy and yes he may be drooling. 

“Aren’t they great?” Stiles turns to Derek, grinning. “Erica is a troll, and she’s probably my favorite person. Or one of them. Boyd… He’s the only one who could ever be worthy of my Catwoman. He saves people’s lives, and he’s… Yeah, you’ve seen him. He’s so kind.” 

It’s not the first word most people think about when they see Boyd, when they first meet him, but it’s one of the first descriptors that come to mind when Stiles tries to describe Boyd. Funny, kind, warm, loyal, fierce, and strong in a multitude of ways beyond the physical. 

“They’re great,” Derek’s face is no longer doing the smile thing. 

That’s worrying, though. Stiles wants him to keep being happy. Because he knows that Derek was having a good time, that he’s been enjoying himself for once. He wants this day to last forever, wants more of this, more of the way Derek held him close when he finally woke up from what was supposed to be a fake nap. He just… doesn’t want this to be the end. 

“They really like you,” Stiles continues as they walk towards Derek’s car. “I really can’t blame them for their awesome taste.” 

So, this is the last visit on Stiles’ list, but he’s sure he can invite Derek in for some more hanging out. They could play a boardgame, or just talk, or… He’d take anything at this point, just Derek sitting next to him on the couch and being comfortable with him would be more than he’d been expecting just a few days ago. 

Derek speaks up out of nowhere. “You need to stop.” 

“I’m not doing anything,” Stiles is trying to take stock of himself. 

He’s trying to figure out what he’s doing that could be so offensive to Derek. But he isn’t doing anything, for once, because he’s calm and happy. He’s mentally making a list of all of the things Derek’s enjoyed eating over the course of the last few days, and trying to figure out who he needs to bribe for which recipe. That and figure out how he can make sure that there are always several of Derek’s favorites in stock at the bakery when he comes by. 

Shouldn’t there be some kind of algorithm for that? 

“This is a transaction,” Derek’s voice is completely emotionless and Stiles is worried. “Just the holidays. Me being your boyfriend in exchange for food. That’s it. And that’s done now.” 

It doesn’t have to be, though. Stiles does not understand why Derek is not realizing that, why he is sticking to the terms and conditions so closely. They can move on from what they initially discussed - things can change and grow. That’s what friendships are all about, and even though Derek is calling it a transaction, Stiles refuses to accept that a transaction is all this is. Maybe it was the first time, in the bakery with Erica, but it’s not anymore. 

They’ve come quite far already, and they’ve got a long way to go still, but that is something that they can totally accomplish together. As long as Derek just… lets it happen. As long as Derek just accepts that it is okay for him to get a little bit of happiness. 

Yeah, Stiles is asking for a lot with that one. He knows that much. 

“But you’re my friend now,” he protests, because he cannot sit by and let this happen. “My friends are your friends. They like you. And that has nothing to do with the relationship they think we have. They don’t give a shit about us staying together. That friendship is not conditional, Derek. You can be their friend regardless of whatever we are or aren’t.” 

He is breathing hard, trying to think of more words, of something - anything - that will make Derek understand just how much things do not have to end here. Derek can’t just drop Stiles off at home and then promptly forget that the last week or so has happened. 

Not when he’s been happy. Not when Stiles has seen him smile, and even laugh. Not when he’s finally allowed himself at least some nice things. Not when he’s on the cusp of progress, of doing better, of finally taking steps towards acceptance. Towards finally realizing that none of it is his fault. Because it isn’t, and it never was and never will be. 

“I don’t care if you tell them we broke up,” Stiles tries to shrug that off. “I don’t care if you blame me for the break-up. Tell them I’m a workaholic - prove them right. Tell them I’m a cheater, a liar, whatever. I don’t care what you tell them, as long as you don’t just bail. Because, well… Fuck, Derek. You deserve friends. You deserve pies and lemon squares, and cuddles. You deserve to be happy.” 

Derek Hale deserves every damn bit of happiness that Stiles can throw at him. And more. Even though he’s starting to think that none of what he’s saying will make a difference. 

So he tries one more thing.

“It has nothing to do with how I feel about you,” he pointedly looks away from Derek because that’s not something he intended to tell him at this point. “It has everything to do with you being a worthwhile person. You’re a good person. You’re kind and funny and you’re an asshole and you’re gorgeous and you’re stronger than anyone should have to be. You’re hurting, I know. But you can’t go on like this forever. You’re not taking care of yourself, and it sucks to see that.” 

Oh God, is he actually in a Hallmark movie now? Is this the moment where the one lead makes the big romantic speech? Stiles never expected to be that person, but if that’s the person he has to be to make Derek see what could be, he totally will. 

And… he’s still not asking for anything more than friendship. It’s not his place to ask for more than Derek is willing to give. Now, if Derek would be willing to give romance a shot, well, Stiles is definitely not going to say no. But that’s Derek’s move, because aggressive friendship is something that Stiles can make Derek accept (maybe). Anything else… not so much. 

“What do you want from me?” Derek almost growls. 

“I just want you to have nice things,” Stiles falls back on a classic, because words are tricky and nothing is getting through to Derek. “I want you to know that you deserve them. Because you do, Derek. You deserve nice things. You deserve to be happy.” 

Yeah, that’s probably the worst thing he could have said. He’s hitting the nail on the head, but Derek isn’t actually willing to hear it. And since he’s basically home now, there is no reason for Derek to continue listening to him. 

Transaction over, basically. 

“Get out,” Derek pulls over in front of Stiles’ apartment. 

“Derek,” Stiles unbuckles his seatbelt, waiting for something, anything. 

But there are no other words that he can say. There is no magic word that’s suddenly going to fix things for Derek. That’s not how that works. This is not something that he can make right by talking. And talking is pretty much all he can do, after all. Except baking. 

“Thank you,” he says when no other words come to him. “Thank you for being good to me these last few days. Thank you for being the best fake boyfriend I’ve ever had. Thank you for being a good friend to me, for being kind to my friends even when they didn’t always deserve it. If you never want to see me again, that’s okay. Just… don’t bail on them because of me, okay?”

There is no answer. Of course there isn’t. 

He gets out of the car. The second he shuts the door, Derek drives off. 

Stiles stalks into his apartment and grabs some sugar, butter, and flour. Red velvet cheesecake makes everything better, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To the person who asked about Blueberry Bacon pie: all pie inspiration comes from Waitress (the musical I've been using for baking references and chapter and fic titles). So, I've never personally had it.   
> Red velvet cheesecake however, does make everything better.


	6. Everything changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I put the boys back together again.   
> One year ends and another begins.

Turns out, while red velvet cheesecake is the food of the Gods, it doesn’t actually fix everything that is wrong in his life. Which is a shame, but at least he still has the remains of his cheesecake to keep him company. Even though he fucked up the food coloring so it isn’t so much red velvet as it is… bloody red-brown-ish velvet? 

Either way, room for improvement and therefore an excellent distraction from his Derek-woes. 

The funny thing about lying to all of his best friends is that when the lie blows up in his face - and it clearly has - he has literally no one to talk to about it. Except his dad, and well… There are some things that are too awkward to talk to his father about. 

Though he did pass on some of the info about the Argent family, because there was no way that Stiles was going to stand by and let that continue. If there’s any way that he can get Derek exonerated, he is still going to do it, no matter how angry it’s going to make Derek when he finds out that Stiles has blabbed his very personal secrets to his father. Yeah, doing things for someone’s own good can be kind of shady, but Stiles believes he’s in the right. 

There is no way that he can let Derek’s guilt burden him that way - not when he’s taking the blame for someone who owes him absolutely nothing. He’s done his time, for a crime he never even committed. Just something he felt - and still feels - guilty over. 

Is it terrible that he’s doing the very thing that Derek told him not to? Probably. But Stiles is stubborn, and he’s determined to make Derek’s life better. Even if they never see each other again - because let’s be real, Derek is probably a master of avoidance by now. And if not, he can just finally leave Beacon Hills behind and go somewhere people won’t recognize him all the damn time. Maybe he can finally move on that way. 

Stiles just wants him to be  _ happy _ . 

Even if he never gets to see it himself. That’s cool. He can be selfless. He’s not great at it, but he can do it. Probably. 

The bell chimes and that means he’ll have to abandon his kitchen self-pity party (and the surprisingly delicious failed cheesecake) to actually serve a customer. 

“I’ll be right with you,” he calls out, trying to pull himself together. 

He doesn’t look like a mess, or at least not more than he usually does when he’s baking and also supposed to be manning the register. He feels a mess though, feels like it probably shows on his face that he kind of got his heart broken two days ago. 

Which is probably why he’s been avoiding his friends - he hasn’t been responding to the many texts he’s received in the last few days (several of them about how awesome Derek is, or about how clearly into each other they are). It just feels like rubbing salt in a fresh wound, and Stiles is a lot of things, but a masochist he is not. Okay, maybe a little. 

So he takes a couple of deep breaths and heads back out there. Can’t let his business suffer. 

“Alright, what’ll it be?” Stiles pastes on a smile for the customer and....

“Can I have a black coffee and a couple of lemon squares?” Derek is staring right at him - right into his damn soul. “I’ll have them to go, if you don’t want me here.” 

Derek is here. 

Stiles looks down at his fingers and starts to count. ( _ One, two, three _ ). He’s heard that in dreams people have the wrong amount of fingers ( _ four, five _ ), and well, this certainly seems a lot like the start of a dream he’s been having on repeat for the past two days ( _ six, seven _ ). Every single time he closes his eyes ( _ eight _ ), Derek is there, having changed his mind ( _ nine, ten _ ). 

No more and no less than ten fingers, which makes it seem like he’s awake, but he pinches himself anyway. For good measure. And it stings. So… there’s that. 

“Lemon squares?” Stiles’ hands aren’t all that steady anymore. 

“Yeah,” Derek looks away, finally. “I liked them. When you gave me one before.” 

This is not helping. This is just cruel. Cruel and unusual punishment. Yes, of course he wants Derek back - not that he ever had him at all, but that’s not the point here - but this just feels like rubbing it in, like Derek knows how into him Stiles is and he’s just visiting to see it all for himself. Like Derek just wants to see the evidence of Stiles’ stupid feelings, and okay maybe he’s being a little bit overdramatic, but that’s just the way he rolls. 

It’s just awkward seeing Derek again, seeing him be happier than he was with Stiles. 

“On the house,” Stiles tells Derek regardless. 

Because that’s the deal. Free food - that’s what Stiles has promised him, and that’s what he’s going to get. That’s all he’s going to get. 

Nope, that’s too mean. He’s promised himself that he is not going to get mean. 

“Stiles,” Derek rolls his eyes at him. 

Like this is some kind of inside joke that they’re both in on. That long-suffering fondness in Derek’s eyes, the way he seems to soften - that’s no inside joke. That’s all new. Derek didn’t look at him like that the whole time, did he? 

“How are you?” Stiles asks, because apparently he’s a masochist after all. 

“Didn’t your friends tell you?” Derek is the one who looks surprised this time. 

Stiles turns away to grab the coffee and pour Derek a cup - a real one, not to go, because he does want to get to the bottom of this. It’s easier to keep talking when he’s not looking at Derek, who’s looking so much more free than he did over the holidays. It seems like spending some time away from Stiles has done him good. 

Yeah, that’s probably not fair, but that’s where his brain is making him go. 

“I haven’t been talking to them much,” he only looks at Derek’s hands, picking apart the first lemon square with deft movements. 

But Derek seems confused about something. “I thought you’d have told them.” 

He’s digging into the first lemon square, and Stiles finally dares to look at him, just to get that warm feeling he gets when he sees someone really enjoying something that he has made for them. And Derek doesn’t disappoint, because he’s almost smiling as he grabs small morsels of food and enjoys them audibly. Which, rude. 

It’s hard to even remember what they were talking about. 

“No.” Stiles shrugs. 

“Stiles,” Derek swallows another piece of pastry and sighs. 

“I was letting you pick the reason,” Stiles exclaims, halfway to flailing at Derek because he’s having all the feelings. “You were supposed to blame it on me, remember? You can tell all of them - wait… My friends. They… They’ve been in touch with you?” 

Actually, he shouldn’t be surprised about that. So many of his friends had liked Derek - some of them would absolutely have found a way to reach out. Whether it was to reassure Derek that some of the terrible impressions they’d made over the holidays weren’t all there was to know about them (Lydia & Jackson, clearly), or to repeat some of the indecent comments made when they met (Erica - fucking Erica)... They all care. They have all decided to care about this perfect stranger that Stiles dragged along for the holidays. 

He just… he loves his idiots so damn much. 

“Danny invited me to Gay Club,” Derek starts, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth. 

Stiles just wants to see his real smile, with bunny teeth and all. Is that asking for too much? 

“He what?” Stiles tries to make sense of it. “Of course he did. That’s kind of him.” 

It is also completely unsurprising, because this is Danny Mahealani after all. He is literally a Disney prince - or would be if it hadn’t been for the hacking conviction. He hears Disney frowns upon that kind of piracy and invasion of privacy. 

“He’s back with Ethan now,” Derek explains, “but we have a standing invitation to visit them.” 

Hawaii is beautiful just about any time of year, and Stiles has been wanting to visit for ages now, so maybe this is the time. Maybe the next time he can scrape together a couple of days of, and he feels like he can leave the bakery in someone else’s capable hands (which, let’s face it, will probably be never in a million years), they can… Oh. They. We. Them. 

“We do,” Stiles knows his voice is… weird. 

But Derek said “we”, and Stiles really does not know how to deal with that. 

“There have been a lot of invitations,” Derek continues in between bites of the second lemon square. “There’s family dinner with Jackson and Lydia, after the New Year’s party that I’m supposed to attend? And a double date with Scott and Kira. Erica has been sending me detailed and inappropriate texts about her pregnancy woes in the hopes that I’ll come visit to distract her from them. I told her that you could do that instead, because clearly I needed to get together with Vernon instead, while she was still out of commission. I think she’s still laughing.” 

Now, he probably doesn’t have the time to unpack all of that, at least not before he is supposed to have a witty response ready, but he can take some time to think this through. Because this is a lot, everyone from Danny to the Martins to Kira (presumably) and Erica reaching out to Derek over the course of the past few days. Because they like him, and they think he’s good for Stiles, and they want him to stick around. And that’s… It’s never happened before. 

“Of course she is,” Stiles can at least smile at his Catwoman. 

“And then yesterday I got a visitor,” Derek’s face is more closed off now. 

But he’s still talking to Stiles. He’s not cutting himself off. He’s letting himself be… almost vulnerable in front of Stiles, and it feels like they’re in the car again, or in Scotty’s upstairs bathroom, revealing secrets. It feels like it’s somehow still the two of them against the world, when Derek clearly put a stop to that after Boxing Day. 

“Your Dad came to see me,” Derek starts, and Stiles’ heart is in his throat. “He told me he figured it out. You told him about the Argents.” 

Yes, that is a thing he did. Of course he did. Because, well, his father is the Sheriff, and they are Stilinski men and Stilinski men can never let things go. Not when they know that there’s injustice, that someone is suffering when they don’t have to be. Not when they suspect the perpetrator is still out there somewhere. 

Well, maybe not so much that in this case. Judging by what his dad has told him, they don’t have to worry about that part. 

All that, and Stiles didn’t even have to tell him everything. 

Stiles tries to take in a deep breath. “I’m sorry.” 

“He figured it out,” Derek keeps talking, but he’s not seeing him. “I can’t believe you did this.” 

It is hard to gauge the exact tone of that last sentence, and Stiles isn’t sure if he even wants to try to figure it out. Because he knows he is the one in the wrong here - at least when it comes to this particular part of their not quite relationship - and that means that Stiles will have to be the one who grovels and fixes things. He’s not good at eating humble pie - it’s probably his least favorite of all the pies. Well, okay, no, anything with coconut in it comes out on the bottom. 

“I’m sorry I broke your trust,” Stiles tries to find the perfect words, even though he’s very aware that those do not exist. “I know you told me in confidence. But if I have knowledge of a crime, my dad… He made me promise. And I just… Maybe things would get better for you.” 

And well, nice things. That’s still what he wants for Derek, even though Derek kind of broke his heart a little bit on Boxing Day. He can give the whole being a better person thing a try and still want Derek’s life to be a little less gloomy than it had been PS - pre-Stiles. 

Oh, God, he’s getting carried away again, and Derek isn’t even looking at him. 

“He said it wasn’t my fault,” Derek is staring into nothing. 

It’s worrying, the way he doesn’t even seem to hear what Stiles is saying. Derek isn’t quite present, his mind is definitely somewhere else. Stiles thinks he knows where it is - or actually, more like when - and it is just not a place where anyone should ever go again. Especially not Derek, who should really stop himself from going back instead of moving forward. 

But it makes sense. Because Derek’s never been allowed to move forward. Not by the justice system, not by himself, and certainly not by the people of Beacon Hills. He’s stuck like this, punishing himself for his perceived sins and letting other people punish him as well. Because he still feels guilty over his part in his family’s deaths - even though it wasn’t his fault, even though he was a child manipulated by an adult who had no idea what that woman would do. 

“It’s not,” Stiles tells him again, just to see if Derek will hear it this time. 

Stiles knows. He’s put the pieces together, the testimony his father has saved for years and years on end. He gets it. He wishes he didn’t, but he does. 

“He’s working to get me exonerated,” Derek is unsteady on his feet. 

“Of course he is,” Stiles is filled with fierce pride in his Dad. “He’s awesome like that.” 

Is Derek actually going to get his life back? Or, well, he can’t actually get it back, because it’s already been lived. Oh. Oh. There is a limit to nice things, right. He needs to remember that. There are some things that Derek will never be able to get back. 

“You’re a lot like him,” Derek finally turns to him. 

Stiles’ heart is pounding in his chest. It’s loud enough that he can basically hear it over the hum of the coffee machine and the ovens in the back. It’s loud enough that Derek can probably hear it too, and that’s a little… scary. 

Just one compliment and Stiles is tripping all over himself again because of Derek. 

“Thanks,” he says, his voice hoarse. 

“He thinks I deserve nice things too,” Derek sways a little. 

Now, Stiles isn’t as athletic as he was in high school, back when he played lacrosse several times a week (and occasionally didn’t even warm the bench), but he runs around the counter anyway, trying to catch Derek before something goes wrong. Before he falls. 

“Hey, Derek, baby,” Stiles just barely manages to get there in time. 

The pet name just slips out, Derek’s body heavy in his arms as he tries to maneuver him towards a nearby chair - the most comfortable one around. It looks like a mess, but anyone who’s ever sat in it has begged him to keep it around. And Stiles does not disagree. So it’s the best place for Derek right now. A safe place for him to recover, somewhere comfortable for him to rest. Somewhere private, without - oh fuck. 

Stiles has to let go of Derek to flip the bakery sign to closed. He’ll deal with the upset customers if he has to. He doesn’t care all too much about them right now, not when Derek is here, not when Derek needs him. Or, well, when Derek needs someone to listen to him - and apparently he has chosen Stiles. Which is still ridiculous. 

But he is not going to let Derek down. Or, he’ll try not to. 

So he moves away from the door a little, pulls down the blinds and makes his way back to Derek’s side. It leaves him awkwardly leaning over the back of the chair, but that’s fine. Derek is more than worth it. 

“It really wasn’t my fault,” Derek’s ridiculous eyes are red-rimmed. 

His heart has been torn right out of his chest. Well, it already belonged to Derek anyway. 

“It wasn’t,” Stiles tries to reassure him. 

“She used me,” Derek is apparently trying to piece it all together. “She probably knew I’d be the easiest target. Because I was stupid and naive. Laura never would have let it happen.” 

Okay, no, so the position of him leaning over the back of the chair isn’t working. He carefully sits down on the small table that is really only meant to carry a couple of cups of coffee and a few plates with pastries. His fingers are crossed that it doesn’t fall apart underneath his ass. 

In the meantime, he is facing Derek again, and he is within reach again. So he holds out a hand and waits for Derek to take it, if he wants to. Physical touch can be a great comfort, and Derek’s already proven that he appreciates holding someone’s hand. Like, if it were possible to get a gold star for hand holding, Derek would have gotten one by now. Heck, Stiles would happily award one after this if it makes Derek feel better. 

“It’s on her,” Stiles doesn’t have the perfect words, but that doesn’t mean he won’t try. “All of it, that’s on her. You never could have known. Laura couldn’t have either. She did a terrible thing, something unforgivable. And it wasn’t fair that you were punished for it. And anything that can be done to atone for that… My Dad’s gonna make sure that you get it.” 

There is no way he is using that woman’s name in this safe space that they’ve managed to create here. It would shatter any feeling of peace that Derek’s managed to attain. It would stain the bakery, inside and out. He doesn’t want Derek to hear that name again, not unless he absolutely has to - and he might have to hear it many times in the future, if they manage to get him exonerated somehow. So Stiles doesn’t use it now. He refuses. 

Instead he watches Derek reach out to him, clinging to Stiles’ hand as if it’s the one anchor he has to the real world. He lets Derek squeeze his hand too tightly - and boy oh boy is Derek a lot stronger than even Stiles expected. Stiles sits there and doesn’t worry about customers or anything else in the outside world. Instead he sits and cares for Derek. 

“He believes me,” Derek is full-on crying now. 

“Always has,” Stiles thinks it’s really important that Derek knows that. “He pulled you back, tried to keep you from going in. He knew better than to believe you did it.” 

His Dad’s faith in Derek isn’t new. Sheriff Stilinski has always believed in Derek Hale’s innocence, even when he wasn’t able to do anything about it. The Hale Fire is one of the few cases he’s never been able to let go of, even though the Sheriff at the time had always considered it solved. Maybe his Dad hadn’t always been obvious about it - he’d be laughed out of office if he pursued it officially, but he’d never stopped looking. 

And now that he knows, now that he has evidence and a statement to prove it, there is no way that the Sheriff is ever going to let this go. 

Yeah, Stiles is so fucking proud of him. 

“I never thought you did it,” Stiles tells him, because Derek has to know. 

“Stiles,” Derek is hesitant, holding back. 

And he’s right to, because who the hell is Stiles to try to get closer to Derek now? This is not the time, it is not the moment to make it about himself in any way. This is Derek’s moment, and the nicest thing Stiles can do for him right now is to give him a nice cup of tea and maybe some more baked goods (the failed cheesecake seems like a solid choice). And he can listen to him, support him, keep holding his hand, and be a nice thing for Derek that way. 

“There’s some cheesecake in the back,” Stiles switches tacks. “I can’t get the coloring right, so I can’t sell it. But it tastes perfect. And I can’t eat it all by myself.” 

Cheesecake makes everything better - to people who aren’t lactose intolerant. But so far he’s seen no sign that Derek has any issues with… Seriously, his brain is the fucking weirdest place sometimes. Honestly, how does he get to these places?

“I can’t believe you’re still talking to me,” Derek tries to wipe his eyes. 

“Well, you’re an idiot,” Stiles tells him pointedly. “You think I stopped caring about you because you were a bit of an asshole to me? Dick, please. You still deserve nice things.” 

Derek chuckles slightly, and Stiles feels like a million bucks because he’s made Derek laugh at a time like this. He’s still sitting precariously on the damn time, so he gently gets up with every intention to go to the kitchen and grab the cheesecake. 

Stiles Stilinski keeps his promises. 

But before he can go anywhere, Derek stands up as well, a lot steadier on his feet than he’d been before. He’s still a bit too pale and his eyes are still red, and he’s still almost devastatingly beautiful regardless. He’s also still holding on to Stiles’ hand. 

So Stiles doesn’t dare to let go now. He keeps holding on until Derek pulls him in close, apparently needing the comfort that only a Stilinski hug can bring. So Stiles clings tightly, lets himself be pressed against Derek’s chest in an almost perfect. They’re almost of a height, but Derek is broader in the shoulders, and somehow that just works. 

Derek is warm and strong - and shouldn’t Stiles be the one holding Derek up here? It almost feels like the other way around, but that’s fine. Whatever Derek wants. 

“You’re a nice thing, Stiles Stilinski,” Derek tells him, breath tickling Stiles’ ear. 

Wow, that’s just rude. 

* * *

The year is coming to an end, and Stiles is surrounded by almost everyone he cares about.

His Dad is “with the actual adults”, or so he says. He’s probably hanging out with Melissa again, babysitting for Scott and Kira, so that the “kids” can all spend time together for once. Just them, just friends, in their casual clothes, out in the garden at Lydia and Jackson’s. 

Just like they do every year, as a way to wind down. A way to spend the holidays only with the people they care about, instead of being forced to invite business relations (because of stupid grants that Lydia still desperately needs). No parents allowed. 

Yeah, they started this fresh out of high school, and not much has changed. 

Except this year, Stiles is not alone. 

“Tell me Scott is not going to puke again,” Derek rolls his eyes. 

“No promises, Der,” Stiles grins happily regardless. “Scott’s alcohol tolerance is famously shitty, so Kira is monitoring him very closely. But there’s a ton of food, and Scott might actually keep eating until midnight. Or until it makes him sick. Or both.” 

Scott does not get a lot of nights off from work and/or the kids, so he usually makes the most of them by acting like a complete idiot. Stiles is used to it by now, but clearly Derek has not yet reached his frankly amazing level of Zen about it. Give him time, and he probably will - though Stiles kind of likes the sass and the slightly disgusted looks. 

“Your friendship makes so much more sense now,” Derek snipes. 

“I can’t believe I like you,” Stiles returns, knowing it’ll make Derek blush. 

He doesn’t just say it to make Derek blush, though that is an excellent bonus. He says it to let Derek know that he still does - like him, that is. That hasn’t changed, even with Derek’s changing demeanor and situation. Shit, the sass alone is going to be enough for Stiles to want a lot of things from Derek. But the Rolling Stones were right about that. 

Maybe he’d eventually get what he needed, though. 

“We can,” Erica grins merrily, drinking her apple juice. 

Sure, she won’t be able to drink champagne with them, but she’s still there. She’s half-asleep already, and mostly staying upright because she’s leaning on Boyd, but she’s there. 

(And her usual sassy self.)

“I can’t believe you’re always this gross,” Isaac rolls his eyes. “I thought that was the Christmas Holiday special.” 

They have somehow forgotten to inform Stiles’ friends that they are not actually together and never have been. Stiles is taking his cues from Derek for that one. Because, well, Stiles doesn’t actually mind that his friends still think that he’s with Derek. 

Stiles especially doesn’t mind that they get to cuddle - even though California nights don’t actually get that cold, and they have blankets and warm clothes, Derek seems surprisingly reluctant to have any kind of physical distance between the two of them. He was the one who pulled Stiles practically on top of him - not a move that Stiles had been expecting. 

But it sure as hell is comfortable. That’s for damn sure. 

“You have no right to talk here,” Allison gently pats his shoulder. 

“Amen,” Jackson is the first to agree. “I’ve walked in on a lot of scarf play over the years, and most of it wasn’t even sex-related.” 

Of course he specifically says most of it, because he’s an asshole who wants to make other people’s brains melt out of their skulls. It’s a quality Stiles kind of really appreciates about Jackson, and he sniggers softly. Derek is probably rolling his eyes at it, but Stiles is too comfortable hiding his face in his chest to find out for real. 

“Too much information,” Scott groans. 

Kira is practically shrieking with laughter as she leans over to high five Jackson. Because just like Stiles, she lives to embarrass Scott. 

“This is not just because I’m grateful,” Derek is saying it quietly, for his ears only. 

His friends are all terrible eavesdroppers, but he thinks that Derek’s actually managed to keep it down enough so that they won’t hear. That and Jackson’s gloating is particularly loud, and Scott is still making a bunch of disgusted noises (as if there has never been a moment where Stiles wondered if a threesome had occurred at some point). 

So not something he needs to think about right now, though. 

“Der?” Stiles finds that the nickname is easy to use. 

His fake boyfriend takes a deep breath before he tries again. “I’m not just here because I’m grateful to you and your dad.” 

Oh, Derek. Of course Stiles knows. 

But that’s not something they can get into at this point, not without having a whole lot of explaining to do afterwards. And that’s okay, because this - whatever it is at this point - it won’t end after today. But he still needs to say something. And he knows just the thing. 

“I know,” Stiles sits up to look Derek in the eyes. 

“You’re no Han Solo,” Derek knows exactly why Stiles is wagging his eyebrows. 

But Derek would make an awesome Princess Leia - even though Stiles knows that Derek would look best in the Han Solo get-up. And yes, that’s a Halloween idea for next year that he’ll none too gently remind Derek of for the next ten months. He’s got time. 

He’s probably supposed to be offended, but he’s smiling. Because he’s got time. 

“Rude!” Stiles gasps dramatically. “I may not be scruffy-looking, but I’m totally a hot scoundrel, and Princess Leia would be lucky to have me.”

Of course his friends are all listening in by now, and Scott is still giving him that look that tells Stiles that Scott is still a terrible friend who still hasn’t watched Star Wars. Sometimes Stiles despairs of him, he really does. But at least Jackson gets it (yeah, that was definitely a surprise the first time Jackson was the first person to get the reference), and he’s managed to get the Boyd-Reyeses on board as well. It’s not just him and Scott anymore. 

Also, the hot guy he’s sitting practically on top of can make Star Wars references. Stiles will deny it to his dying day, but he is actually swooning. Especially now Derek’s reaching for his hand again. He’s just so cuddly, it’s wonderful. 

“I’m sorry,” Derek is not sorry at all, “did you not want me to hold your hand?”

Stiles squeezes Derek’s large hand in his, tightly, to prove just how much he really does want Derek to hold his hand. He wants to hold hands all the time, even when his hands get all sweaty and gross, or when he actually has things to do instead. It’s a shame he can’t bake with only one hand - though for Derek, he’d try. Yeah, there must be some tricks to it, some YouTube videos about how to do that. He can check. 

Totally worth it. Because they’re that gross couple now. 

Not a couple. 

Not the point. 

“You’re so talkative today,” Stiles teases. “Have I finally taught you some decent manners?”

That takes him back to the beginning, or to what was technically the beginning, even though they’d met for the first time years ago. Stiles doesn’t remember the specifics, but he knew who Derek was when they were kids - he just didn’t recognize him the first time Derek walked into his shop and only said the words “black coffee”. Like he couldn’t say anything else. 

Oh how things have changed. 

“Don’t give yourself any credit where it’s not due,” Derek actually proves his point. 

Erica is grinning at the both of them again, because she really, really enjoys this kind of banter. She’s almost as much of a slut for banter as Stiles is. Almost. Because no one is at his level. 

“Boyd,” Erica kind of breaks the spell, “their foreplay is kinda doing it for me.” 

While he can’t blame her, it is not something any of the others wants to hear. Sure, they don’t really have a normal sense of boundaries, but some of these idiots love to play disgusted at comments like this one. Usually it’s Scott - who likes to pretend that they’re all family and therefore it’s gross - or Isaac - who just enjoys being a troll. 

“Can you hold out till midnight?” Boyd doesn’t even try to sound serious. 

“It’s gonna be tough,” Erica pretends to think it over. “Maybe if someone gets me some more cheesecake. I feel like that might do it.” 

The next attempt at the red velvet cheesecake turned out a lot better - not quite perfect yet, but red enough that he felt confident serving it to his friends. Erica in particular has been enjoying it - this will be her third piece, and she’s taking to moaning while eating. So Stiles is definitely taking that as a compliment. It’s the only one he’ll get from Erica when she’s like this. 

Is it okay if he assumes that someone else is going to be the someone who gets up? Stiles is just so comfy here. 

“We’ll get it,” Derek announces. 

And… Rude. Stiles very much does not want to move. But well, it’s Derek, and Stiles has always been love’s bitch. And he’s curious to find out why Derek has volunteered them. 

“Coat closet is the third door on the right,” Lydia says pointedly. 

Well, yeah, okay, that might be a solid reason. Midnight is approaching, and they probably have to discuss how they’re going to play that. Stiles doesn’t want Derek to have to do any acting that he might not be comfortable with - especially now he knows how Stiles feels about him. 

“Get it Stilinski,” Jackson might not be completely sarcastic this time. 

“Get me that cheesecake,” Erica pretends to pout at them. 

Stiles just follows Derek inside, because apparently they’re actually going to be holding hands at all times now. At least around his friends - which is still more than Stiles thought he was going to get after Boxing Day. Or even after their day together at the bakery - the day that earned him several frustrated customers. And he didn’t even extend his opening hours to make up for it. 

A fake boyfriend and real friend is a surprisingly good reason to cut back on the hours a little. In the new year, he’ll probably finally hire himself an assistant. Maybe. 

“Cheesecake?” Stiles waits for Derek to lead them to the fridge. 

They don’t quite make it to the coat closet, but Derek does pull him in for a kiss. It’s quick, soft, a simple press of lips that is more chaste than anything else. But it’s out of sight, and there’s no audience they need to perform for, and it’s the kind of kiss that you’d give before someone heads out the door. It’s an old married couple kiss. 

Yeah, Stiles is already overanalyzing it. That’s just what he does. 

“Der,” Stiles is stammering when Derek does it again. 

“I want to,” is all the explanation he gets. 

Which, yeah, awesome. Derek can kiss Stiles whenever he wants to - Stiles has absolutely no objections there. Though, it is surprising, and an explanation would be nice. 

“Whenever you want,” Stiles promises Derek instead. 

“At midnight,” Derek replies. “In front of all your friends.” 

That he can definitely do. Heck, his friends are probably going to get quite the show, especially if Derek continues to play into his exhibitionism kink like that. Erica will probably cheer them on the whole time - he knows his Catwoman. 

But if kissing is on the table again...

“Do you wanna maybe go on a real date next year?” Stiles asks, because it’s a chance he needs to take. 

“You’re an idiot,” Derek tells him. “That means yes.” 

Of course it does. Only Derek would insult him and make sure that Stiles understands that it means that Derek can’t wait. He’s barely even glowering anymore - the resting murder face doesn’t seem nearly as terrifying anymore now that he’s seen Derek cry and smile and laugh and roll his eyes a million times. 

“I thought I was a nice thing?” Stiles pouts. 

“Don’t push your luck,” Derek finally leads them both in the direction of the fridge.

They still had a couple of minutes left until midnight, until the new year started, a year that was going to throw a million challenges at the both of them. There was one in particular, the biggest one: the process of Derek actually getting exonerated - the official paperwork had been started, but bureaucracy is notoriously slow and the struggle is not over yet. Stiles is trying not to worry about it, because it’s supposed to be a nice thing. 

One of many. 

Erica is almost disappointed when they bring out the cheesecake with several minutes to spare - clearly she has money riding on the coat closet theory - but she seems to feel better as soon as she digs into her third slice. 

Derek settles down in the same spot he’d been in before, and Stiles throws himself at his real boyfriend, putting himself in a prime kissing position. 

As the last moments of the year pass by, Stiles looks around for a bit, at the way all of his friends are gathered around him, happy and smiling. And happy for him. 

They scream the final ten seconds of the countdown together, acting like the children they were when this tradition started. Stiles watches Derek, watches him roll his eyes and act like he isn’t having a good time - even though he clearly is. 

“Kiss me, Mieczyslaw,” Derek orders. 

“You’re the worst,” Stiles huffs even as he leans in. 

This, right here, is the nicest thing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christine m'dear, I hope this lived up to your expectations. You've been an awesome friend to me in the past year, let's hope for many more :D


End file.
